


The Enemy Within

by doylefan22



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Adventure, F/F, F/M, Female Relationships, Friendship, Gen, Season/Series 05, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-27
Updated: 2012-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-13 01:02:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 84,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doylefan22/pseuds/doylefan22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate series 5. Gen adventure with some ship....In the months since Morgana last disappeared, Camelot has blossomed into a young, flourishing kingdom buoyed by its new king and queen. But, despite his dearest hopes, even Merlin knows that such peace can't last forever and a troubling vision of the future pushes him into an alliance with a former enemy. As plans unfold and Arthur looks to 'save' his lost sister, Merlin must once more do everything he can in order to protect him. Worse is to come though and, when faced with a ruthless king on the warpath and the looming threat of a deeply dangerous Mordred, everyone in Camelot is pushed into both unlikely friendships and desperate measures. As they fight for their survival and their future - whilst still trying to move on from old wounds - more than one secret is brought crashing into the open and Merlin must face the darkness at the heart of his own powers. Who is the true enemy amongst so much distrust?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Paper Legends big bang. 
> 
> With massive thanks to Toasty for her remarkable last minute emergency beta job.

There was a silence in snowfall, even when the ice winds whistled, tossing the delicate flakes about in the air. Snow was peace and tranquillity, and it hid the dead, frozen world beneath under a veneer of pure white, giving it a sheen of undisturbed perfection. The sight was a pristine lie, of course, purity added to a land that was anything but. Morgana liked that she stood out starkly against it, dressed in black and sitting astride her horse on the high ridge, a symbol of the scars that still bled unhealed beneath its facade. Too deep to heal now. Any beauty left in this world was nothing but a fragile shell and she felt sure it would crack soon. She’d be glad to see it.

 

Her horse shifted beneath her, sensing something on the breeze, but she calmed her with old words and the creature soon settled. The horse had some sense about her and didn’t like being so exposed here, where anyone could see them. Most, in fact, would call this careless but Morgana wasn’t trying to keep herself hidden. Those down below had bigger things to occupy their attention and were unlikely to look her way.

 

She couldn’t hear the sounds of the battle, no impact of swords or snarl of beast. The silence of the snow had drowned it out, giving her a detachment from proceedings that suited her.  She was here to watch and didn’t want to think. Her mind had already drifted too dangerously of late.

 

Not that there was much of a battle left to witness. The remaining amphisbaena were greatly outnumbered by the knights now, the heads at both ends of the beast-like serpents snapping fiercely but ultimately in vain; Arthur was a seasoned tactician and would soon win again.

 

A shiver of emotion passed through Morgana, eyes fixed upon Camelot’s king - her brother - almost to the exclusion of others. Part of her reaction was revulsion, considering him the ultimate symbol of the poisoned kingdom that’d wronged her and her kind so grievously. Everything done to the people of magic had been to secure his throne and his future, and it galled her deeply to know that he’d got his reward on the back of such suffering. There was another feeling there too though as she watched him; a discomfort that’d sat in her stomach ever since she’d first confronted him in the throne room so many months ago. They’d loved each other once, as family, even before they knew that they were. And whilst it’d been easy to hate his shadow or his memory, it’d proved harder when she’d had him right in front of her and she’d seen her own sudden pain at what they’d come to reflected in his eyes. Neither of them had really wanted this but there they were.

 

And here they were now, still on that path that seemed destined to lead to destruction. Sometimes she wondered if this had always been inevitable. Sometimes she wished there was another way.

 

Next to her, sitting on his own horse, Mordred tore his intense gaze away from the action below to look at her. He always looked at people directly, apparently having no qualms about peering right into a person, nor any fear about what he might see. It was so bold it was almost unnatural.

 

His face was as measured as always, a calm mask with just a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.

 

“Morgana,” he said steadily, a voice that was still light and melodious, enchanting even, despite his growing years, “we should go before they spot us.”

 

She looked up at the boy - not that he was truly a boy now, more a young man starting to come into his prime - and forced a nod, breaking through her preoccupation.

 

“Yes. Of course.”

 

They turned their horses and moved down the ridge, out of sight of the people below.

 

The amphisbaena had been Mordred’s idea; he’d summoned them to attack the outlying village, knowing that reports of it would reach Camelot and draw Arthur out. Unlike his father, Arthur was not good at sitting in his throne room and giving out orders, preferring to tackle a problem himself. He was a man of action and Mordred said he wanted to see what Arthur would do.

 

Morgana wasn’t sure that she saw the complete sense in the plan - believing that it was toying with her brother rather than making strides to remove him from his throne or punish him for harming their kind - but Mordred had a way of persuading her. He always had, even when his words seemed to fly in the face of her own reason or judgement. Every one of them speaking to her, like they came right from her own heart.

 

Silence only remained between them long enough for them to negotiate the steep ridge and then Mordred turned to her again, giving her a look that bordered on gentle scolding. Like you might give a favourite pupil who you knew had contemplated something unwise.

 

“He’s our enemy,” he reminded her pointedly. “Arthur Pendragon has no love for any of our kind; he’d see us both on a pyre or at the block if he caught us. Like he did my father.”

 

“I know,” Morgana replied in an instant, a sharp snap to her voice. She was more annoyed with herself though, embarrassed for thinking, even for a moment, that it could be otherwise. Of course Arthur was their enemy; he hated her and she’d be a fool to think any different. If she allowed herself to be swayed by any remnants of gentle emotions, he’d take advantage of that and it would be her undoing.

 

Mordred was right, and, in all honesty she couldn’t remember why she’d briefly felt otherwise.

 

The young man gave her a faintly curious look in light of her angry tone, silently asking for a reason.

 

“Merlin,” she spat in retort, a false explanation but the twisted venom in her voice true enough, more potent than all the amphisbaena heads combined. “I saw him there, playing his master’s loyal, imbecile lap dog whilst skulking in the shadows.”

 

She wouldn’t give him the dignity of the name ‘Emrys’, her blood all but boiling at the idea still. When Mordred had first told her, had revealed that Merlin, Arthur’s pesky but persistently lucky servant was the great sorcerer whom she’d been told to fear…. Well, Morgana’s rage had been uncontrollable. People in villages miles away had heard her screams and the forest she and the young sorcerer had been living in had burnt to cinders around her. The people said a vengeful spirit had been released and they’d hid in their homes for nights on end, hoping it would pass them safely by.

 

Mordred hadn’t tried to calm her, simply waiting patiently whilst she exhausted her anger, listening to her rant about how Merlin had lied to her, how he knew she’d been afraid of her magic and had done so little to help her. How he’d tried to kill her, whilst keeping Camelot’s corrupt and murderous rulers alive. He was traitor of the worst kind and deserved every punishment possible for his crimes. _She_ would visit them upon him.

 

In contrast, Mordred’s feelings towards Merlin were entirely guarded. It was like he had none at all.

 

“I’m glad Emrys came,” he said calmly. He never called Merlin by any other name. “It was a test for him as much as Arthur Pendragon.”

 

It was Morgana’s turn to look curious now. She hadn’t been savvy to any such plan.

 

“Even in grave peril, he doesn’t consider revealing his powers,” Mordred reasoned. “He could have dealt with the amphisbaena within moments if he chose, but instead he decided to let others risks their lives rather than reveal who he is. It’s interesting.”

 

Morgana thought it was more like self-interest.

 

“He just knows that Arthur would at best banish him and at worse have his head if he found out,” she reasoned caustically. “Magic is still punishable by death in Camelot and Arthur always was very good at upholding his father’s laws.”

 

Laws he’d made no effort to rescind in his nearly two years on the throne, despite the few times in the dim past that he’d gone against them. Maybe he was a better man than Uther - or could have been - but not by much. Not when it mattered most.

 

“Whatever the reason,” Mordred said, “taking Camelot will be difficult whilst Emrys is still there.”

 

Morgana shook her head.

 

“But not impossible. I’ve seen what you can do, you’re a match for him.” There was an odd pride in her words, like how a mother would talk to her son even though the age gap between them wasn’t great enough for that. “Together, we could defeat him.”

 

She sounded keen. Morgana wasn’t a patient woman and this lack of progress was frustrating to her.

 

Mordred smiled at her, although there was coldness behind the warm expression. There always was.

 

“There are more effective ways to deal with someone than simple defeat.”

 

**********************

 

Merlin was in a surprisingly cheerful mood for a man who’d spent the better part of the previous day fighting giant serpents. Particularly considering that this had been followed by an evening scrubbing the innards of said serpents from Arthur’s tunic whilst the young king enjoyed the festivities the village put on in his honour. Even when Arthur had returned late, tossing another tunic at him and reminding Merlin that it wouldn’t be right for him to address his subjects without something fresh and dry to wear come morning, Merlin had still grinned. It’d be a good day.

 

He’d had many of those lately and now that their journey home was almost at an end and they were within sight of Camelot once more, his smile grew even broader.

 

“You know,” he said casually to Arthur as they rode down the sun-warmed hillside, “popular legend says that eating the meat of an amphisbaena can attract many lovers. I’m surprised you didn’t have me bring some back…”

 

Arthur gave him a dry look.

 

“You know I wouldn’t be interested in such a thing.” He reached across and whacked Merlin on the shoulder, just hard enough to make him have to grab the reigns tighter. “But you can do with all the help you can get, so if you want to go back and fetch some, be my guest.”

 

Behind them, Gwaine snorted a laugh and Merlin turned slightly in his saddle to look at him.

 

“Are you still here?” he joked. “Thought you’d be racing back to the village already…”

 

Gwaine waved that insult away as though it bounced right off him.

 

“I’ve never needed any help attracting the ladies.”

 

“Really?” Merlin pressed, a false frown on his face. “Remind me again how much luck you had with Gwen…”

 

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

 

“Have you been trying to woo your Queen, Sir Gwaine?”

 

“No,” Gwaine scoffed lightly, making it quite clear he wasn’t that daft. “I tried to woo her _before_ she was Queen.”

 

Merlin laughed, but his next comment was interrupted as the horns sounded ahead of them; Camelot had spotted its king and was welcoming him home.

 

The great city certainly seemed to share his current mood of optimism. It was starting to blossom in Merlin’s opinion and not just because the last of the winter snows were finally clearing and spring was arriving. No, there was a greater sense of peace settling over the Camelot these days, an air of hope and an excitement for a better future. A new young king and kind, beautiful queen had seemed to refresh the people after long years of tension under Uther’s reign. Not to mention the fact that they’d suffered no threats at all in nearly two seasons.

 

It’d been many months since Morgana had taken Camelot and the High Priestess - it felt so odd to think of her as that, considering the girl he’d once known - hadn’t been seen since she’d disappeared, right out from under Merlin and Gwen’s noses. Many thought that she was dead, having heard tales of the injury she’d sustained in the fighting and thinking that even a sorceress couldn’t survive such a wound. Even if she had managed to use magic to escape the castle - and it seemed likely given that the place was searched extensively without sign of her - her allies were dead and she’d no one to give her aid. Her hut had been ransacked shortly after, Arthur having received an anonymous message about where she’d been hiding, and there was no indication that she’d been back. It’d caused most to agree that she’d escaped but had fallen deep in the woods somewhere, succumbing to her wound where she wouldn’t be found.

 

Merlin felt an odd kind of sickness in his stomach at the idea - pity maybe - but he would be glad all the same to never see her again.

 

Arthur was a different matter. He’d actually sent patrols out looking for her and when Merlin had asked him whether that was to arrest her or to rescue her, the King had simply snapped at him and told him not to question. Arthur hadn’t behaved like Uther once did - wasting precious lives and many months on a woman that was nowhere to be found - but it clearly disturbed him not to know what’d happened to her. And not simply because she was a dangerous enemy. He didn’t say anything openly, but Merlin knew him well enough to see the troubled thoughts lurking behind his orders. Part of Merlin was proud of that, seeing it as a symbol of a great man with a capacity for forgiveness and love beyond what was deserved, and part of him feared that it would prove a weakness Arthur couldn’t afford.

 

Merlin had tried to speak to Gwen about it once too, but she’d simply appeared upset and had asked him to change the subject.

 

Despite what Morgana might have believed, she was mourned by some in Camelot.

 

Still, her shadow couldn’t hold sway on the kingdom forever and as the months had passed, things had brightened. Camelot’s new queen was certainly a source of that and Gwen was waiting for them now in the courtyard, smiling warmly at all the returning men, even if her brightest ones were reserved for Arthur. He beamed too as he dismounted, forgetting being the king for a moment and just being the husband, embracing his wife and asking her how things had been.

 

Merlin was pleased for them. After everything that’d happened - Agravaine’s meddling, Lancelot and Gwen’s subsequent banishment, Mithian - he’d been worried that they’d never be what they once were to each other. He liked to think that the matter was entirely behind them now, that all was settled, but things were rarely that simple. He saw the tension still there at times, hurt feelings that’d never properly healed sometimes rawly prodded. Not to mention that Arthur still had a blundering ability to be an oaf with his words.

 

“Anything else I should know about?” the young king joked as he held his arm out for his wife, Merlin following a few paces behind as they all headed back into the castle. “Made any big changes whilst you’ve had the opportunity? Been busy spending the entire treasury in my absence?”

 

Gwen shook her head, amused at his teasing. “I tried, but you took the key…”

 

“Redecorating our chambers then?”

 

“They couldn’t get the pink silk here for at least a month.”

 

Arthur grinned too.

 

“Changed all the kitchen menus then? Swapped all my clothes for ones of your liking? Charmed all the knights into swearing fealty to you instead?”

 

Gwen had been laughing but she visibly tensed at that last one, even though she tried to hold her smile, a nerve clearly struck.

 

Arthur’s face fell.

 

“Sorry,” he mumbled awkwardly, realising his mistake. “I didn’t think. I didn’t mean that…”

 

He let out a sigh.

 

Arthur trusted Gwen but there seemed to be part of her that still didn’t - couldn’t now - completely have faith in that. Lancelot had changed things between them, leaving ugly scars hidden deep.

 

“Why don’t we go and have dinner?” Gwen asked gently, smoothing things over, the diplomat as always. “You can tell me all about your trip.”

 

Merlin spent the rest of the evening serving them - something Gwen still couldn’t get used to, barely quashing her want to get up and help him tidy things away. He might have let her just to ease her own conscience, but some in the kingdom still muttered about their ‘commoner queen’ and it was important that she was seen to be doing things properly.

 

Even if it did remind Merlin so starkly of how things hadn’t changed for him. How he was now more on his own than ever, surrounding by kings, queens and knights when he was just a servant to them. If he’d had a large ego, it would’ve been galling.

 

Still, he couldn’t help but go to bed in a cheerful mood. There would always be obstacles, but the world seemed more bright and hopeful than it had in many years. Arthur was still wary of magic, true, but he showed promise and with no great threats hanging over them, Merlin could help him see that promise through. He just needed to have a little more time and patience. Then he could tell everyone who he really was.

 

He fell asleep with a smile on his face and it stayed there until his name was whispered to him in his dreams. Not softly or with affection, and certainly not with any seduction or desire. It was a harsh sound, demanding his attention, and it made him frown for the first time that day.

 

Several times - half waking, half sleeping, like in a fever - he rolled over as if trying to bat the voice away, but its persistence was absolute. It sometimes faded to little more than a breath, but always rose again, steady and without signs of stopping. It would not leave him be.

 

It was near dawn, the end of a troubled, restless night, when he finally came to realise that there was something uncomfortably familiar in the tone. It wasn’t just ‘a voice’, it was a woman, a richness in her words because she was quite used to giving orders and having them obeyed.

 

Suddenly, as though the recognition of that gave her opening to force her way into his mind, he saw the outline of her face in the blackness behind his closed eyelids. Beautiful but shadowed, dark eyes burning into him, almost recognisable but just out of sight. There was a flicker of triumph in her gaze, as though she knew what he’d come to realise - that this was no mere dream. She’d made an impression that he wouldn’t be able to ignore.

 

In the moments before his eyes opened, the shadows faded and he saw her clearly, smiling in triumph. The image was burned into his mind as he sat up exhaustedly in his bed.

 

Morgause.


	2. Chapter 2

“Merlin, you look awful.”

 

Arthur had never been known for his tact, particularly not towards those he considered friends. Merlin had often joked that he had small reserves of courtesy and exhausted them on a frequent basis, but he was much too tired to make any such quip this morning.

 

“I’ve not been sleeping well,” he explained simply, continuing to lay out the breakfast things.

 

In fact, getting to sleep hadn’t been a problem at all - it was almost as if he was being dragged there - but getting any meaningful respite out of it was a different matter. His mind simply got no rest, Morgause’s presence disturbing him deeply. At first, she was just there - doing nothing and saying little - like her spirit was haunting him out of malice. He’d thought maybe that was her punishment for what he’d done to her. They’d never really known what had happened to the High Priestess, but Morgana had certainly laid blame on him for her death.

 

Then he realised, after several nights, that Morgause was in fact talking to him. If he focused on her instead of trying to ignore her, he could see her mouth was moving, and he’d started to hear faint sounds. It was a breeze-like whisper of words but too garbled to make out, just as if she was speaking to him from underwater. Caution told him that he didn’t want to know what she was saying, but something else - a sixth sense? Foolishness? - made him fight to understand. Strangely enough, he almost looked forward to sleep since it gave him the opportunity to know rather than spend his days puzzling.

 

He hadn’t liked what he’d heard.

 

“Bad dreams?” Arthur cooed in a rather jovial manner as he sat, clearly meaning it as a joke and not seeing any unease in Merlin.

 

Merlin schooled himself not to react. He didn’t think Arthur would take kindly to the idea that Merlin was dreaming about Morgana’s dead sister. Too many raw memories there, particularly since Arthur had convinced himself that Morgause was to blame for all this; that she’d turned Morgana against them. Brain-washed her. Merlin had his own opinion on that but had said nothing.

 

“Yeah,” he joked back, as bright as he could force. “It comes from doing your laundry. Horrific experience.”

 

“Many would consider it an honour to be trusted with a king’s laundry, you know.”

 

“Tell that to my nose.”

 

Gwen entered, thankfully saving Merlin from further verbal sparring that he wasn’t up to. She smiled warmly at them both, brightening the atmosphere in the room. She certainly put a softer expression onto Arthur’s face as she kissed his cheek.

 

Her happy face fell to a light frown though as she turned her attention to Merlin.

 

“You look awful,” she commented with more open concern than her husband had managed.

 

“Not sleeping well,” Merlin explained again, keeping the explanation vague and uninteresting, hoping Gwen wouldn’t feel the need to delve further into it.

 

She was always smarter than that.

 

“Is something wrong?”

 

Merlin shrugged. “I don’t think so. Maybe I’m coming down with something.”

 

Even Arthur frowned now.

 

“Then go and see Gaius,” he insisted. “We’ll be fine here.”

 

Merlin smiled a little to himself, thinking he must look terrible if even Arthur could drop his jovial ribbing and pretence of not caring.

 

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea right now,” he deflected with a playfully pained expression. “I’ve seen you try to cut bread before…”

 

“Merlin…” Arthur’s warning tone.

 

The young sorcerer arched an eyebrow.

 

“You tried to do it with your sword.”

 

Gwen laughed.

 

“It was very tough!” Arthur protested before pushing that aside. “Now, go. That’s an order.”

 

Which didn’t leave Merlin much choice, admittedly. He’d been putting off talking to Gaius, not wanting to worry his old friend and needing time to think things through for himself. Perhaps though it was time to confide. Particularly now he’d come to a decision about what to do.

 

“I didn’t know you cared,” he snorted at Arthur, gathering up the washing to take away. It would save him coming back later at least.

 

Arthur smirked at him.

 

“Don’t be stupid, Merlin. I just don’t want you spreading your disease around. Who knows where you’ve been.”

 

**********************

 

Gaius was busy at his work bench, but glanced up as Merlin entered. Immediately, he frowned, pausing in what he was doing.

 

“You look awful, Merlin.”

 

“I wish people would stop saying that. It’s doing nothing for my confidence.”

 

Gaius retorted with a dry look which spoke of no patience for jokes; he wanted to know what was wrong and he certainly wouldn’t be fobbed off with words of distraction. He knew Merlin far too well.

 

Merlin sighed, still slightly reluctant to confess, but knowing he could do with someone else’s opinion, even if his own was usually the one he listened to in the end.

 

“I haven’t been sleeping well.”

 

Gaius cocked his head, intrigued. “Bad dreams?”

 

“Of a sort.”

 

Gaius listened as attentively as he ever did whilst Merlin explained what he’d seen, how his dreams were being haunted by the spirit of the dead sorceress and had been for nearly two weeks, ever since they’d got back from fighting the amphisbaena.

 

“At first it was just her presence. I thought she was just angry at me and wanted to make my nights miserable but…it’s changed.”

 

“How so?” Gaius’s expression was serious but thoughtful, wanting all the facts before he made his views on it known.

 

“There’s more there now. Scenes. Visions, maybe.”

 

“Of what?”

 

Merlin hesitated, an uneasy shiver going through him at the memory. “Blood. War. Death.”

 

“Arthur’s death?” Gaius asked, clearly sensing something in the young sorcerer’s voice.

 

“I don’t know. Maybe.” He’d not seen it  -  not yet anyway - but he knew that something terrible had happened in that battle. The sky was as red as fire and blood, the ground muddied and destroyed, the world deathly silent. It felt like everything had been torn down and ruined. “I’m no Seer, Gaius; these aren’t my visions. She might just be showing me horrible things to torment me or there might something to them.”

 

Gaius nodded in understanding, seeing his plight and knowing why he was so disturbed. “You’re right. Unfortunately, there’s no true way of telling.”

 

“Yes, there is."

 

Gaius arched an eyebrow at him.

 

Merlin looked at him steadily, defiant almost, knowing he wouldn’t like this in the slightest but prepared to stand his ground. “Last night, before I woke, she told me to go to the Isle of the Blessed and she’d explain.”

 

There was silence for a moment, Gaius returning his steady look as though he believed he could make the young man dismiss that notion with a gaze of wisdom.

 

“Merlin-”

 

He could hear the warning in Gaius’s voice, and whilst he appreciated the sense in it - of everything he knew Gaius would say in counter to the idea - Gaius wasn’t the one having to live with these dreams night after night. Merlin had one pertinent question in his mind; if he ignored it, then what? Would the nightmares carry on regardless until he found some way of blocking them? Or, even worse, would he be ignoring a vital warning and destined to watch that battle come to pass, walking through those bloodied fields and coming upon the sight he feared most?

 

“I can’t just brush them aside,” he insisted, apology in his tone for ignoring what on the face of it would be sound advice. “If something does happen and I ignore this summons…”

 

He’d never forgive himself.

 

“You don’t even know if it is Morgause,” Gaius reasoned calmly, years of experience teaching him that reason rather than orders would be more likely to get through to Merlin. “And even if it is, how can you trust her? Why would she warn you of anything? She’ll bear you nothing but ill will, Merlin. I can’t believe it would be anything but a trap.”

 

Merlin agreed, particularly if Morgana truly was dead. Morgause’s capacity for vengeance would then know no bounds.

 

“Maybe it is, but I can deal with her,” he insisted. “I have before and it’s not like she knows who or what I am. If she does try something, she’ll get a nasty surprise.”

 

“Well, whilst I appreciate your confidence,” Gaius said dryly, “she’s a spirit. I’m not sure there’s much you can threaten her with.”

 

“Exactly,” Merlin replied quickly, pouncing on those words and turning them to his favour. “She’s a spirit; how much harm can she do me?”

 

“On the Isle of the Blessed?” Gaius said in a sceptical tone. “The seat of power for the Old Religion? Home of the High Priestesses? Oh nothing, I’m sure.”

 

Merlin gave him a look, unimpressed. He knew he was taking a risk but it was one he considered worth it.

 

“I’m going,” he said firmly. “I don’t have a choice.”

 

Gaius sighed, obviously knowing he couldn’t stop him, and resigned to live with Merlin’s stubbornness. He wasn’t a boy anymore; Gaius could give his opinion but he couldn’t expect Merlin to always heed it. Didn’t mean he’d be shy about making it known though.

 

“And what about Arthur? Will you tell him?”

 

“No,” Merlin said with a steady shake of his head. “It would be too difficult to explain without…”

 

Giving himself away.

 

Gaius nodded very slightly in agreement. “So what do I tell him then? When he asks where you are?”

 

“That I have some terrible disease and can’t be seen?” Merlin suggested with a smile. “I’m sure you’ll think of something and I’ll only be gone a few days.”

 

“Hopefully,” Gaius said grimly. “And I’m assuming you don’t need to be told to be extremely careful. But if you do come back without your head, don’t complain to me.”

 

“If I do, you can say ‘I told you so’,” he promised.

 

**********************

 

The Isle of the Blessed held nothing but bad memories for Merlin. The barren grey ruins were clearly a place of magic - he could feel it in the air, sense it in the ground and perceive it emanating from the very stones of the crumbled keep - and he should, by all rights, feel at home here. But something told him that the Isle didn’t want him here any more than he wished to be so. It was the home of the High Priestesses and he’d had a hand in the death of at least two, possibly three of them. Possibly the last. He was no friend of this place.

 

In an odd way, he almost felt the need to apologise to it, to explain that he’d done it for the greater good, but he doubted that the spirits of magic here would agree. They were different, he and they. Despite being a creature of magic he’d never felt like he was part of these old ways.

 

In the distance, he heard a creature let out a screaming cry and he hurried on, taking that as a warning; he should get about his business and be gone.

 

He didn’t really know why he followed the path that he did, only that it felt like it was what he was supposed to do. He should probably worry about that - were these decisions even his own or was he being drawn into a terrible fate by vengeful spirits? - but he didn’t take time to think on it as he entered the area with the altar. This was where Arthur had prepared to die and Lancelot had sacrificed himself instead, where the veil had torn and the barrier between worlds was weakest. Yes, of course it would be here.

 

He wasn’t even surprised that the figure was waiting for him.

 

He hadn’t seen Morgause in many years but the weak, shimmering vision before him was definitely her, he knew that before he even got near. As he approached, as close as he felt comfortable with, he saw the expression on her face; cold and somewhat impatient as she waited for him. She’d always been a beautiful woman - hard, but undoubtedly a beauty - but her face was now marred by faint traces of scars down one side, remnants of a clearly terrible wound that hadn’t fully healed. He remembered how she’d struck her head against that pillar as he’d thrown her and wondered if it was really that blow that’d led to her death.

 

“I’m here,” he said simply. Which was obvious, of course, but it was said in a pointed manner; he’d heeded her summons and she’d better make it good.

 

“Yes, and if this Isle was at its full strength you would not have been permitted.” Her vision may be weak, but her voice was as strong and clear as it’d ever been. “No one who isn’t of magic would be able to set foot here.”

 

Merlin couldn’t quite stop his mouth from quirking into a smile. Oh yes, that would be such a problem for him… It seemed that the afterlife had made her no more perceptive.

 

“Not even the great Emrys,” she added, a hint of sarcasm in her tone.

 

His expression fell, amusement giving away to shock, and her vision got stronger as she smiled in satisfaction.

 

“Yes, I know who you are, Emrys. As does Morgana. Her rage when she found out was quite the sight, I felt the ripples of it even here.”

 

Merlin chilled to hear that. His secret had been held for so long - only three people in the kingdom knowing who he really was - and it was a cold shock to have his identity discussed so freely. And Morgana knew. He could only imagine how that’d made her hatred for him grow. Unless…

 

“Is she with you?” he asked, forcing his voice to stay steady, not wanting Morgause to believe that she had the upper hand.

 

Her smile was near predatory, clearly knowing that he wouldn’t like her answer.

 

“No.”

 

Merlin wasn’t ashamed to admit he felt a little disappointed. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to kill her outright, but it would have solved a lot of his problems if she’d died from her wound. Now he potentially had even more problems; a Morgana who knew who he was could be more dangerous than ever.

 

“Then if you know who I am,” he said stubbornly, regaining his inner balance, head held high, “you know that an island of magic would welcome me with open arms.”

 

Morgause scoffed at that. “Do not be so sure, young warlock. Did the traitor Gaius teach you nothing? Your magic is not like ours.”

 

“No,” he countered automatically, ignoring the jibe, “I don’t use mine to hurt innocent people.”

 

“And yet yours is the one that comes from the dark places.”

 

Merlin was instantly quiet at that, mouth tightly shut. He could refute it, of course, but she was certainly right in one aspect; she knew much more about the origins and history of magic than he did. She’d been brought up in it whilst he’d been left in a village where no one understood what he was nor could guide him. He hated that she held that power over him - the power of knowledge - and he wouldn’t betray his own ignorance further as he was sure she’d take advantage of it.

 

For all he was aware though, there were stories that supported what she said. Not that he would believe them. He knew what he felt when he used magic and it wasn’t dark.

 

Except, a subversive part of him recalled, when he’d killed Agravaine. Something he’d very firmly tried to forget for fear of the path it would lead him down.

 

“The true magic users have always been the High Priestesses. We worked with nature and worshipped the Goddess. Sorcerers-” Morgause said the word as though it were a curse, “are rarer and often very powerful, but the Goddess considered their magic open to corruption. Their power came from the deep places of the earth that no one should touch.”

 

Merlin looked defensive. That may be so, but he was a person, not just some creature enslaved to magic. He’d had a choice and he’d always made the one for the great good.

 

“I know nothing about your goddess and she knows nothing of me.”

 

“What?” Morgause challenged boldly. “Do you put your faith in Arthur’s one god instead? Their teachings would call our kind heretic and evil. They’d have you burned.”

 

“Arthur isn’t like that.”

 

“Isn’t he? I’m surprised you can still believe that, even after all this time, all these years of waiting for him to be the better man. How much longer will you wait, Emrys?”

 

“Nothing could be achieved over night,” Merlin insisted angrily, not knowing why he should justify himself to her and yet unable to stop. “Not after all those years of Uther’s teachings. It was always going to take time.”

 

“Yes, and whilst you played the long game, how many of our kind died? How many were murdered by your king and his men in Uther’s unjust revenge?”

 

“And how many did you kill in _your_ revenge?” Merlin countered sharply.

 

“If you had let me kill Uther with the Knights of Medhir, instead of forcing my hand with your attempt at murder, Uther would’ve been long dead and we’d all have been free.”

 

Merlin’s hands balled into tight fists at his side, short nails digging into his palms. He’d been played for a fool here.

 

“Is this why you really called me here? To argue with me? To make me see the error of my ways? Well you’ve wasted your time.”

 

He turned angrily, going to leave. He should’ve listened to Gaius for once. At least he’d go back with his head though. A small victory.

 

“I’ve only wasted my time if I’ve underestimated how much you care for your king,” Morgause said, voice full of assurance, calling after him before he’d gone more than a few paces. “You’ll help me, or Arthur will die.”


	3. Chapter 3

Gwen was still getting used to how people smiled at her in the market. She’d always had a good rapport with the citizens here, having known them one way or another for most of her life - clients of her father or people they traded with - but it was different now though. Their smiles weren’t just easy and friendly, they beamed at her, children shyly hiding behind their mother’s skirts, pointing at her in awe whilst their mothers told them it was rude to stare.

 

She was their queen and they weren’t used to such people walking amongst them.

 

Just as Gwen - and she was still ‘Gwen’, finding ‘Guinevere’ too formal - wasn’t used to people bowing to her. When she’d first gone to the market after her coronation, refusing to give up the habit, she’d felt mortified at the stir she’d caused. Everyone had stopped what they were doing, muttering hurriedly amongst themselves, bowing and curtesying. Camelot hadn't had a queen in a long time.

 

“Don't, please,” Gwen had insisted but an air of uncertainty had hung in the air and no one had moved, forcing her to nudge her accompanying knights into action. “For goodness sake, make them stop…”

 

After that, she almost hadn’t gone back, stomach twisting at the thought of causing such a show again. But she’d sworn to herself that she’d work for them, that she’d know what troubled them and be their voice in court. She couldn’t do that if she kept herself locked away in the castle.

 

Now, many months since her coronation, she’d finally got people to stop bowing in the street. A polite incline of the head was the unspoken compromise they’d reached, and it’d somehow made their old smiles warmer than they’d ever been.

 

The silk merchant came only once a month and Gwen insisted that she wouldn’t miss his visit, much to the chagrin of her brother. Elyan had, unsurprisingly, been assigned as her personal guard for such outings, but he wasn’t always entirely gracious about it. Like that morning, when she’d told him she wished to go out and he’d pulled a face, muttering something about interrupting his training practice. She’d teased him - as his sister that was her prerogative - saying that if there were more important things to do than guarding his queen, she could certainly find someone else. His answer had been a very dry look.

 

Not that his being here meant that he felt honour bound to hide his disinterest.

 

“Now this is beautiful,” she said, picking up a ream of the most delicate material and unwrapping it a little, examining it closer.

 

Elyan, whose attention had been drawn by the girl grinning at him from the fruit stall, looked around.

 

“It’s…purple,” he settled upon when it was clear from Gwen’s face that she expected him to express an opinion.

 

She rolled her eyes.

 

“You could at least feign interest,” she said, draping some over her arm to see how it hung.

 

“It’s purple,” he said again with a shrug. “And very thin. It’s not going to keep you warm.”

 

“I wasn’t planning on wearing it out in the middle of winter.”

 

Elyan finally smiled at her, indulgent and soothing.

 

“I’m sure it’ll make a lovely ball gown and Arthur will grin like a fool to have you on his arm.”

 

Gwen looked mildly affronted. “I do want to be more than his decoration, you know.”

 

Opening his mouth as if to say something, Elyan quickly shut it again and glanced sky-wards, saying no more. Clearly concluding that he couldn’t win.

 

Gwen sighed as she investigated the rest of the merchandise, seeing if there was a material she liked more and giving up on the idea of asking for his opinion.

 

It was very hard not to think of the times she’d done this with Morgana, of how they’d laughed in this market, testing different colours against each other. Morgana always insisting on buying Gwen something. It hurt to remember such times. It hurt even more to remember that the last time they’d met, Morgana had pulled back her sword to strike a killing blow.

 

She'd said that she was sorry.

 

It’d been an odd thing to say before killing someone you hated, and yet Morgana had said she was sorry and that she couldn’t let _that_ happen. Gwen wished she could understand what she’d meant. She wished she could understand what had happened to Morgana at all and if any of them could have prevented it.

 

“How does this colour suit me?” she asked Elyan, picking up a dark green and laying it over her arm. She didn’t expect he’d be any more capable of answering than he had been before, but she’d rather talk awkwardly than think.

 

The look on Elyan’s face was a little pained as he shrugged.

 

“You’re really not very helpful,” she scolded.

 

“I’m not very good at this. I think you’d look good in anything.”

 

“Don’t try to be charming, Elyan, it doesn’t suit you.”

 

He smiled.

 

“Look, wouldn’t it be better if you brought a maid or something next time? Then I can concentrate on guarding.”

 

Gwen had considered that. She had a sweet young maid but the girl was very quiet, nervous no matter how kindly Gwen spoke to her. She’d probably look like a cornered rabbit if Gwen ever tried to ask her opinion on something.

 

“You mean if I have someone else to talk to, you can concentrate on eyeing the market girls,” she countered her brother, a fond reproach.

 

Elyan didn’t have a chance to defend himself before nearby shouts drew their attention.

 

Gwen hurried towards them first, Elyan calling a protest - saying she should leave it to him to check out - before surrendering and following her lead.

 

The small square was bustling with people and the majority were so busily focused on what was happening that they didn’t notice Gwen’s arrival. The man in the centre of it all certainly didn’t, his arms held behind him by two burly workers, his head forced down as he was made to walk. The sound of his pleas could be heard over the jeering crowd and Gwen could see the terror on his face as he was manhandled, but she couldn’t make out his actual words. As someone threw a rotten cabbage though, striking the frightened man in the face, she decided she’d seen enough.

 

“What’s happening here?” she demanded, surprised at how strong and forceful she managed to make her voice.

 

Many around her were instantly silent and Elyan’s bellow got through to the rest.

 

“Make way for your Queen!”

 

Gwen marched, head held high through the parted crowd - even if her heart was beating fast and unsteady.

 

“Let him go,” she commanded as she reached the men and their ‘prisoner’. Elyan had a hand on the hilt of his sword, but the men obeyed without need for further persuasion.

 

The captured man fell to his knees, shaking.

 

“What is this?” she briskly asked again, looking confused and somewhat disgusted by what she’d witnessed; this man being hounded by a mob. It wasn’t the Camelot she liked to see. It was the Camelot she thought had died with Uther.

 

“Begging your pardon, my lady,” said one of the workers, eyes downcast, respectful. “This man was caught using sorcery.”

 

“I wasn’t, my lady!” the accused instantly protested in a shaking voice, as though pleading for his life. “I swear!”

 

“He was using it to make his goods better,” the first man denounced more sharply. “So he could sell them for a higher price.”

 

“That’s not true,” the accused pleaded again. “I have talent and I’ve worked at it, day and night. That’s all.”

 

Gwen remained calm, not wanting to incense a volatile situation further.

 

“What is your business?” she asked the man kindly, trying to soothe his shattered nerves and let him see that he’d nothing to fear.

 

He didn’t dare look at her.

 

“Furniture, my lady. I make furniture.”

 

She nodded. Certainly a skilled profession, but still one that could be learnt and improved upon with practice. She crouched in front of the fallen man, gently lifting his hands to inspect them. They were still shaking. More importantly, they were rough and marked with splinters. The scars of hard work.

 

“Do you have any proof of his guilt or just your suspicions?” she demanded as she rose, looking fiercely at the two larger men.

 

They said nothing.

 

“So you were just going to, what? Beat him?”

 

“No, my lady!” one of the men protested, seemingly affronted. “We were going to throw him out.”

 

“Throw him out?”

 

“Of the city. We don’t want his kind living amongst us.”

 

Gwen stiffened. She knew what happened to people who were ejected from the safety of the only home they knew. She also knew what it was like to be falsely accused of witchcraft and to have no right of defence. She glanced at Elyan and then nodded towards the unfortunate man. Her brother understood immediately, moving across to help him to his feet as Gwen turned to address the whole crowd.

 

“This man here has been found guilty of nothing and the suspicions placed upon him are entirely unfounded. He is free to go back to his home and business and is not to be harmed. If he is, those responsible will answer to the King.”

 

She and Elyan led the man back home, whilst he constantly praised and thanked her for her kindness. He was clearly vastly disturbed by what’d happened and so was Gwen, her heart still pounding. She’d never done that before, stood up to a crowd in such a way.

 

And yet it wasn’t that which plagued her mind; it was the deep distrust still rife in this kingdom.

 

**********************

 

Merlin turned back round sharply, eyes fierce with anger.

 

“Are you threatening him?”

 

Morgause’s look was disinterested, dismissing his question as though she considered it both foolish and unnecessary.

 

“Beyond the Veil some things are clearer; I’ve seen what’s to come. Morgana has allied herself with the boy Mordred and their combined strength will be Arthur’s downfall.”

 

Merlin felt the blood drain from his face, a hollowness settling deep within his stomach. He tried not to let that fear show, but he wasn’t sure how successful he was. Mordred…the name pierced into him. It’d been hanging over him for years, but the longer that passed without the boy showing again, the more Merlin had begun to hope that maybe Kilgharrah had been wrong. Maybe Mordred hadn’t even survived after the raid on the druid camp. He was just a boy on his own after all.

 

And now Morgause was telling Merlin what he’d feared most; Mordred was alive and well. And powerful.

 

“Even you cannot hope to defeat them both,” Morgause continued, ignoring his reaction if she saw it. “Morgana’s powers continue to grow and she’s almost as strong as you. Mordred possibly more so. There will be a great battle of their making and Arthur will die.”

 

Merlin wasn’t sure how much Morgause knew of the prophecies that he’d previously heard; that Morgana and Mordred would join in a deadly alliance and Mordred would kill Arthur. It’d been Kilgharrah that told him, and Merlin very much doubted that the dragon had imparted the information to the High Priestesses. But where had he got it from? Was it well known amongst those of great magic? Could it be that Morgause was purposely trying to use what Merlin feared in order to manipulate him?

 

Regardless of her motives though, one thing remained; if Mordred was alive then Merlin had to stop him. He’d felt the cold power in the boy, even all those years ago, and he could only guess at what Mordred was capable of by now. It was an intensity of power that’d frightened even him.

 

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked Morgause after a long pause, arms crossing over his chest as he frowned.

 

Her smiled was coldly amused. “Because we can help each other.”

 

Merlin almost laughed in return. No wonder she was smiling; that was a very amusing notion considering their past.

 

“And why would you want to help me? Or Arthur? You’ve demonstrated very well that you’re no friend to Camelot.”

 

“It’s never been a friend to me,” she countered smoothly, continuing before he could attempt to argue that. “But you are correct; I don’t care for it or your king. Morgana and protecting the Old Religion are my only interests and neither will be served by this current path.”

 

Merlin frowned at her, cocking his head.

 

“Magic is dying, our kind is a dying breed. Why do you think the Isle is in such a pitiful state? The Old Religion needs Morgana. She’s destined to save it, but that cannot happen whilst she follows that boy and his path of destruction.”

 

“It’s her path too,” Merlin reminded Morgause coolly, his interest in ‘saving’ Morgana low. His interest in helping the Old Religion wasn’t much higher either. “She chose it. She’s the one who wants to bring down everything good in this Kingdom.”

 

Morgause’s eyes flashed in anger, her body seeming to draw up to a great height, her spirit suddenly brighter.

 

“And who drove her to that with the hand of poison?” she challenged, defending her sister. “You could have helped her, you and that traitorous physician. But instead you chose to suppress her, to drug her and tell her lies, when she lived each day in mortal fear of what would’ve happened if Uther had discovered her true self.”

 

“She should’ve trusted us.”

 

“You should have given her a reason to trust. How could she when everyone in the kingdom stood by and watched the murder of innocents time after time?” Morgause shook her head, disgusted.

 

“Well, she made her choice, didn’t she?” Merlin reasoned darkly, not liking these accusations. Camelot wasn’t like that, even then. There’d always been good people there. Whatever Morgause had in mind, how could he even think about working alongside her when she clearly hated the kingdom so much still? “She doesn’t want saving and doesn’t want my help,” he continued fiercely. “And I certainly don’t trust you.”

 

He turned, going to leave, not even considering that showing his back to her was highly reckless.

 

Something cold plunged deep into his chest and he let out a wordless scream, his knees giving way and causing him to collapse. He tried to look down to see what’d pierced him but there was…nothing.

 

And then a flash, a flicker of a scene.

 

It was noisy and disorientating, appearing and disappearing rapidly. He could hear the clash of swords and the cries of dying men. The ground around him was suddenly wet with blood and the bodies made it difficult to walk. Thick smoke was in the air, so acrid that it burned his lungs, fire seeming to lick against his skin. He tried to bat it away but there was nothing there.

 

The white walls of Camelot were charred and crumbled, the once bustling streets deserted and cold, home to no one anymore.

 

On a battle field in a mass of bodies, a man lay coughing up his last blood. A sword pierced the familiar armour and a boy waited, not even looking at the fallen king, not trying to help nor glancing at his triumph. He stared ahead. Waiting for Merlin.

 

Merlin who gasped like a man who’d been held underwater as his eyes shot open and he found himself looking up at Morgause’s coldly calm face. He was laying on the hard, uneven cobbles, his head aching where he’d hit it as he’d fell and his face covered in a sheen of perspiration. That’d been like his dreams only far more vivid.

 

“It will happen,” she said darkly, not waiting for him to recover. “If the shadows of the present remain unchanged.”

 

Merlin felt his heart pounding and he was breathless as he dragged himself to his feet.

 

“And you want to stop it?”

 

“I want to keep that which I love safe. As do you.”

 

It was a link between them, a tenuous one, but one that could perhaps be trusted to a certain extent.

 

“How do you suggest we do that?”

 

“By getting Morgana away from the boy and bringing her back here, where she belongs. He will find things harder without her; he doesn’t know Arthur nor Camelot the way she does. She gives him valuable insight as well as a powerful ally. We need to save her from his grasp.”

 

Merlin snorted a short shaky laugh.

 

“I doubt she’d take kindly to being saved.” Nor to anyone believing that she needed it. “And why would she give up? Because you say so?”

 

Morgause was stoic, not answering, and he just shook his head in disbelief.

 

“Maybe you don’t know her like you think. She believes that whilst Arthur’s on the throne, her kind aren’t safe and magic will never be welcome in Camelot. She’s not going to stop fighting that.”

 

“Do you blame her?” Morgause challenged lightly. “There are still laws against it after all. Laws that would see her dead and which your bright new king has made no effort to repeal. Why should she sit around and hope he doesn’t slaughter her kind like his father did? Why do you still hide what you truly are if it isn’t for fear of how he would react?”

 

Merlin was tight lipped. He had faith in Arthur, but even that was shaded by doubt at times. He knew Arthur was a good man, but he was one with a past tarred by a father who hated magic, who’d lost both his parents to it, who’d seen his sister fall into darkness because of it and witnessed his city attacked by it. It was a vicious circle of hate and distrust, and even Merlin wondered sometimes if the inner goodness of one man could break that. But he had to trust in it because the alternative was unthinkable.

 

“Morgana spoke highly of him once,” Morgause continued. “She wanted to believe in him, no matter how much her faith was shaken. But no one can survive on such thin belief and he did nothing to strengthen it. I am not convinced of the worth of Arthur Pendragon either, nor am I assured of our safety under his rule. But I am willing to risk what I care about most to try to save what I love. What are you willing to risk, Emrys, to save your friend and see the future you desire?”

 

He was silent for a few, long moments, thinking deeply. If Morgana was with Mordred, any plan to get to her and bring her back here would be dangerous. And she was hardly likely to come quietly.  Yet he couldn’t let things continue towards what he’d seen in that vision.

 

“Why hasn’t Morgana seen this future?” he questioned quietly, mind thinking it through. “She’s a Seer. She might know what’s going to happen and is happy to go along with it.”

 

Morgause looked suddenly uneasy, glancing towards the ground with a thoughtful and troubled expression on her face.

 

“Mordred is suppressing her dreams,” she explained, “only letting her see what he wants. The bracelet I gave her would still permit something this potent through and yet…Even I can’t get through to her.”

 

Merlin looked confused. How could that be if Morgana was as powerful as Morgause claimed she was? Mordred shouldn’t be able to control her like that.

 

Morgause looked at him with surprise and then shook her head as though disappointed that he didn’t know the answer.

 

“Morgana’s mind is powerful but was unprotected for many years. Magic allows her to see what is to come, but it has to enter her mind in order to do so. Any suitably powerful magic can in fact. A Seer, properly trained from childhood, learns how to secure their mind against such unwanted intrusion, but Morgana was never given such instruction. She was allowed to continue to develop unaided and, intentionally or not, Mordred latched on to that when they first met, using it to convince her to protect him. Now he has great control and influence over her, even if it goes against her own true judgement. He’s using her anger and turning her to plans that serve him alone. He has his own goals and will use anyone to see them through, even Morgana.”

 

Merlin was silent, remembering how he’d heard Mordred in his mind. It’d been….uncomfortable. Like an intruder was fiddling around in there.

 

“I need to get to Morgana,” Morgause concluded. “I am the only one with sufficient influence over her and skill enough to break Mordred’s hold. She will listen to me and once her mind is clear, she’ll listen to compromise if suggested by the right person. I can turn her back to her rightful path.”

 

Merlin wasn’t entirely sure he wanted the Old Religion reborn but if it was a choice between that and Mordred…

 

He sighed, letting out a deep breath. It seemed that he’d agreed to all this without actually saying a word.

 

“Maybe you can but there’s not much you can do about it in your current state, is there?”

 

Morgause smiled widely, genuinely pleased.

 

“Yes, you’re absolutely right.”


	4. Chapter 4

Merlin waited until nightfall before sneaking back into Camelot. It wasn’t that hard given what he knew about the place and his abilities but instead of giving him a slight thrill to be able to fool the guards - as it had in the past - he suddenly wondered whether Mordred would be able to do the same. Everything looked more precarious now.

 

Gaius was working in his chambers, but he tore his attention from his books immediately when Merlin slipped in, the young sorcerer leaning against the wall as he released the tension from all his guard dodging.

 

“Where have you been?” Gaius demanded in a harsh whisper, annoyed but cautious of being overheard.

 

“The Isle of the Blessed,” Merlin replied with a shrug.

 

“You’ve been gone for days!”

 

“I did have to travel there and back,” Merlin reasoned, moving to the desk and placing the small bag he’d taken with him down on the surface. “I trust no one else missed me.”

 

Gaius was still glaring. “I told Arthur you were ill and that you’d need several days rest to get over it. I had put Gwen off visiting.”

 

“Did you say I was contagious?”

 

“Revoltingly so, covered in boils.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

Merlin started to unpack his bag, saying nothing more and pretending to be oblivious to Gaius’s continued expectant glare. The silence didn't last long.

 

“So?”

 

“So?”

 

“What happened? Was it Morgause?”

 

Maybe Merlin had been stalling; he knew Gaius wouldn’t like what he had to tell him and he was tired and in no mood for a lecture. But it seemed he was bound to get one anyway and so he sat on the bench seat - might as well be comfortable - and relayed what she’d said.

 

“And you believed her?” Gaius asked skeptically when he was done.

 

“You didn’t see the visions,” Merlin reasoned his voice quiet a moment, a disturbed expression on his face “I couldn’t risk it. You remember what I said about Mordred?”

 

“Well, yes, but-”

 

“He’s so powerful, Gaius. I felt it then and he was only a boy. Who knows how he’s grown, who he’s been with, who’s been teaching him… I don’t think I can face him and Morgana together. Which was a serious thing to admit for someone who’d had such confidence in his rapidly growing powers.

 

Gaius looked at him steadily before finally nodding in agreement, even if it was with a heavy sigh.

 

“So does Morgause expect you to bring Morgana to her?”

 

“No. She’ll get her herself.”

 

“How?”

 

“I brought her back. From beyond the Veil.”

 

Gaius was silent a moment, taking that in as Merlin watched carefully for his reaction.

 

“But…she’d be a shade, like Lancelot was,” he reasoned, going for practicality first rather than arguing the rights and wrongs of it. “She’d have none of her powers.”

 

Merlin shook his head. “She told me how to do it properly. It’s…different on the Isle. Magic is different there. She’s going to go and get Morgana and then they’ll retreat to the Isle and rebuild it. Without Morgana against us too, we have a better chance of keeping Arthur alive.”

 

Gaius was still nodding but his face was grave.

 

“I hate to ask, but how do you know Morgause won’t just side with them? How do you know you haven’t just made our enemies much stronger?”

 

“I don’t,” Merlin said simply, honesty in his eyes. “But I have to risk something to save everything.”

 

“You’re risking us all if you’re wrong.”

 

They shared a long look.

 

Gaius sighed, getting up and placing a hand on Merlin’s shoulder, wanting to support the young man and not leave him wallowing in self doubt.

 

“I'm sure you did what you thought best. Now, let me get you some dinner.”

 

Merlin nodded, quiet and thoughtful, Gaius astute enough to read something in that look.

 

“Is there anything else you need to tell me?”

 

Merlin hesitated on the brink of mentioning it; what Morgause had said about his powers coming from the dark places of the world. How he wasn’t natural. Every part of his being wanted to deny it vehemently and yet there was still that doubt. There was still how he’d felt when he’d killed Agravaine…

 

“No,” he settled on with a small smile. “It’s all right, I’ve only risked one kingdom today.”

 

Gaius smiled at him a little too.

 

“Then clearly you’re not trying hard enough.”

 

**********************

 

Arthur was surprised to see the two workers kneeling before him in his audience chamber. Not because such men shouldn’t talk to a king, but he was more used to dealing with rich merchants or minor lords. Land owners who’d had disagreements with their neighbours or men who felt their business had been harmed by others. Things he, in all honesty, found rather tedious to deal with. He fully understood and respected the fact that such minor concerns were his duty too - that the everyday running of his kingdom was just as important as the larger decisions - but he couldn’t help but wistfully look back at the days when he was his father’s solider and could concentrate on matters of security, peace and war and leave things like this to his father and the council.

 

He’d considered several times of late that he might hand this business over to Gwen, knowing her deft touch would be perfectly suited and he was concerned that if he became jaded, he might lose sight of what the people truly desired. There was a fine line between wanting to prove himself a good king and knowing where his strengths lay.

 

He sat up straighter though when the men spoke, attention fully rooted as they told him about their fears that there was a sorcerer amongst them. Genuine nervous fear that had brought them before him today even if they seemed half terrified to be here.

 

“Has anyone been harmed?” he asked gravely.

 

“No sire. We believe he’s been using his unnatural evils to produce the goods he sells.”

 

Such terms were the talk of his father’s teachings.

 

Arthur nodded. “Thank you for bringing this to me. I will ensure that the matter is carefully investigated and any punishment given where the laws have been broken.”

 

He would be fair, not condemning a man on hearsay alone as his father might have done - sometimes too quick to act in the interests of keeping Camelot safe. No, there needed to be clear evidence of the use of witchcraft.

 

The two men shared a look but neither was brave enough to say anything until Arthur prompted them.

 

“Is there more?”

 

“The Queen, sire,” one man said cautiously. “She…defended the man in the streets. She said he was to be set free and not punished. She forbade it.”

 

Arthur shared a curious look with Sir Leon who stood at his side, but the most senior of his knights gave a small shake of his head; he’d not heard any such reports.

 

“She’s a good woman, sire,” the second townsman added, daring to glance up so Arthur could see the truth of that. “But perhaps her heart is too kind.”

 

Arthur sat back, fingers thoughtfully knitted together. It was true that Gwen had the best heart of anyone he’d ever known, but would she really let a potentially dangerous sorcerer remain in the city without even sharing those reports with him?

 

**********************

 

Morgana turned on her small low bed, looking up at the dark ceiling of the tent. The moon was high in the cloudless sky tonight, casting the shadows of trees over the material. She liked them, her eyes following the swaying patterns, tracing the branches to see the bud of new leaves at their tips. New life as the Goddess returned to the Earth. Morgause had taught her that.

 

Morgana’s throat tightened; she’d dreamed of Morgause a lot of late. Of just being with her, safely in her arms, warm and loved and revelling in the feel of her skin. They lay in fields of long grass, the smell of fresh flowers in the air, dark hair entwining with blonde. She dreamed repeatedly of living in a flourishing paradise where magic was strong, away from all troubles.

 

It was perfect and when she awoke she felt all the more tormented by the sight of what had been denied her. Of what had been taken from her by unjust hands whom had no care for her or her kind. It convinced her more than ever that the world was broken and it couldn’t be fixed. All she could do was tear it down completely and hope that perhaps what replaced it was better than what’d come before. That magic could be reborn from the ashes.

 

She sat up, mind too troubled to rest, and pulled on her cloak. Perhaps a walk in the woodland would help calm her spirits and at least allow her to get some sleep. Maybe she would dream again…

 

The camp wasn’t large - a dozen tents at most - filled with those loyal to Mordred and herself. Most were magic users who’d been ostracised or threatened by Camelot and had fled in fear of their lives. None had a level of power even approaching that of her and the boy though, and so were little use in their fight. Still, they performed minor tasks well - bringing food, cooking, gathering water, caring for horses, spying - and it soothed Morgana to feel even small amounts of magic still in the world.

 

She passed one of the fires in silence, feet making no noise against the frozen ground, and she didn’t take much note of who was sitting there until Alvarr stood and called after her.

 

“Trouble sleeping, Morgana?”

 

The man had helped Mordred much after his escape, keeping him safe as he grew. Even schooling him in his powers until Mordred had quickly surpassed him once he gained true control. Morgana had felt uneasy when she’d been introduced to him again though, when Mordred had first brought her to this camp and safe-haven. Looking back, it was clear now how Alvarr had used her without care, seeing her as no more than a tool. Morgause had opened her eyes to that, her manner and flattery quite different, and it embarrassed Morgana to know that she’d once been fooled by his charisma.

 

“Nothing that concerns you,” she replied coolly, not looking at him and nodding slightly before starting to move on.

 

He intercepted her, a broad, placating smile on his face.

 

“Come now, we’re allies, are we not? What troubles you, is troubling to me.”

 

Perhaps he hoped to use his charm to coerce her into giving him advantage. Or giving him something else. The notion made her stiff, wrapping her cloak tighter about her.

 

“What troubles me is no business for yours,” she insisted more firmly.

 

“On the contrary, I hate to see you troubled, Morgana. Your beauty should not be marred by such thoughts.”

 

He reached out as if to stroke her arm, but her reflexes were quicker, fingers catching hold of his wrist in a tight grasp that seemed to surprise him.

 

“I am not the same silly girl you charmed into helping you,” she hissed harshly, giving him a fierce look to go with her blunt words. “I am a High Priestess and you will show me the proper respect.”

 

He looked at her with a sudden disquiet, as though he’d completely misjudged her and his quick mind was deciding the correct course of action.

 

“Yes…” he finally said quietly. “My Lady.”

 

She still held his wrist painfully tight, her foul mood making her wonder if he needed a more obvious lesson in respect, when Mordred appeared. She hadn’t heard him approach.

 

“Is something wrong, Morgana?” he asked with gentle curiosity.

 

His calmness shamed her into more rational thought. Alvarr may be a snake but they needed his ability at subterfuge. She let go of his wrist, although her gaze lost none of its warning venom.

 

“No. Not now.” She doubted he would bother her again.

 

Mordred smiled at her and his affection seemed genuine even if part of her kept insisting that that couldn’t be true. That he wasn’t capable of it. He reached for her hand, taking it delicately.

 

“I couldn’t sleep and was going for a walk in the woods,” he said brightly. “Do you want to come with me?”

 

Something made her draw her hand back, wrapping it in her cloak.

 

“No. Thank you. I’m tired.”

 

He nodded, apparently not offended at all.

 

“Sleep well then.”

 

She took that as her cue and left, returning to her tent, not unwrapping her arms from around her body until she was safely inside. Had she been alone, she might have mused more deeply on her feelings, on the inkling in the back of her mind that never quite let her relax here, but she had a guest and a far more welcome distraction this time.

 

Aithusa was sitting in the middle of the floor, tail wrapped around her front feet, looking entirely patient and calling softly in greeting when Morgana arrived. She was much larger than she’d been when Morgana had first met her, as big as a dog now and growing rapidly. She made a sort of reptilian purring sound when Morgana stroked her snout, nuzzling her, both of them equally pleased to see the other.

 

Morgana still knew next to nothing about the dragon; where she’d come from or why she’d helped her in the forest. What little she did know - her name and that she was female - seemed to be instinctive. Like she was meant to know that. Everything else was a mystery. Uther had claimed that all the dragons were dead and, even as a girl, Morgana had found that idea very sad. Now she understood a little better why. She may not know a thing about Aithusa - dragons were supposed to be able to talk but, if she could, then Aithusa was playing dumb and Morgana had given up asking her - but she knew there was comfort in her presence. The sense of a kindred spirit. They were both of magic after all.

 

And yet, oddly, she never seemed to turn up when Mordred was around.

 

Morgana walked around to her small table, picking up the plate with the remnants of her mostly untouched meal. Aithusa wasn’t proud, finishing off the scraps of meat hungrily.

 

“I swear that’s the only reason you come to see me,” Morgana said dryly. Although she knew it was more than that somehow.

 

Laying back down on her bedroll, she wasn’t surprised to feel Aithusa at her side moments later, chirping softly as she settled down. She rested her tail gently across Morgana’s body and, whether it was meant to be a gesture of comfort or not, Morgana found it reassuring. It made her feel truly protected for the first time in a very long while.

 

She slept, dreaming of an isle with a white dragon flying through the air.


	5. Chapter 5

Gwen had never had reason to visit the archives of Camelot before and was all but nervous when she approached Geoffrey, asking to see the current book of law. He’d been perfectly amenable though, not questioning her, simply fetching the book and laying it out on a desk. He offered to explain any terms that she found difficult.

 

Maybe he thought that, as a former commoner and servant, she hadn’t learnt to read properly.

 

She was gracious in her thanks, assuring him that she’d be fine and that he could carry on with what he’d been doing. Telling him that she didn’t want to disrupt him whilst secretly just wanting the peace and privacy to read them alone.

 

It took her until late afternoon to finish, carefully going over every pertinent declaration and decree. She didn’t like what she found. A great many of Uther’s old commands still stood. Most of them in fact, making it a crime punishable by death to practice magic or to consort with or aid those who did so. It was specifically mentioned that anyone deemed guilty by the king had no right of trial or appeal, and that the only sentence was beheading or burning, at the king’s pleasure.

 

How could Arthur allow such laws to still exist? She knew that he’d been very busy in the past few months and that he wouldn’t want to make drastic changes too hastily, but this wasn’t justice. Magic could be evil and cruel, she’d seen that much herself and suffered from it, but this gave free reign for anyone accused to be executed with the barest scrap of evidence. Life should be held in higher regard than that.

 

Deeply disturbed, she forgot to bid Geoffrey farewell as she left, abandoning the book as she went in search of Arthur.

 

She found him in his study, a room that’d stood empty for many years and which he’d had restored in order to give him a place of peace to get on with the business of ruling without disturbance. Gwen was one of the few permitted inside and he usually only glanced up and smiled at her when she visited before returning to his work. This time though, when he saw her, he quite deliberately stopped what he was doing.

 

“Guinevere,” he said with a nod, serious but not unkind. “I was hoping to talk with you in private actually…”

 

She was too troubled by her own thoughts to really listen.

 

“Why haven’t you changed the laws on magic?”

 

He paused, momentarily taken aback by her bluntness. Then he nodded slightly, putting his quill down.

 

“This is about the man in the market,” he guessed in a tone that suggested he considered himself entirely right.

 

“No,” she said defensively, wondering how he’d heard about that, before conceding that it was really the catalyst. “Well, yes, a little. I wanted to see what the law said about what they intended to do to him.”

 

“The law is quite clear,” Arthur reminded her with gentle patience. “Magic is not allowed in Camelot.”

 

“And,” Gwen pointed out, remembering all she’d read, “there’s no justice or fair trial allowed for those accused of it. They were just going to throw him out on the merest suspicion.”

 

Arthur nodded, listening to her attentively as she deserved.

 

“I agree, it was badly handled. They should’ve gathered proof and brought it to the guards so it could’ve been dealt with properly.”

 

“You mean so he could’ve been executed?”

 

“Not necessarily. Banishment is acceptable in some cases.”

 

A very raw spot indeed, but she hid it well.

 

“Even if he did nothing wrong? Even if he hurt no one?”

 

Arthur paused, looking at her with sympathy before he stood. He placed his hands gently on her shoulders, a gesture Gwen found part way between sweet and patronising.

 

“I know you want to see the best in people, Guinevere,” he said softly. “It’s one of your great strengths. But magic is wrong, it always hurts someone in the end.”

 

Gwen was quiet a moment, thinking of the truth they’d both seen in that, how it had hurt her, her father, his father, Morgana…

 

“I’m just protecting my people,” he added at her hesitation. “As my father did before me.”

 

She doubted he intended it, but that comment served to galvanise her, convincing her that her point was worth arguing. She didn’t want this as an extension of Uther’s reign and she hoped, at heart, neither did Arthur.

 

“Yes,” she said, looking up at him with steady determination, “and for that protection they’re still living in fear and turning on each other at the drop of a hat. I’ve seen it, Arthur; these people were paranoid and that man could’ve lost everything for it.”

 

Arthur stiffened, his hands dropping from her shoulders, a nerve most definitely struck. “I know my father wasn’t perfect, but he was devoted to keeping Camelot safe.”

 

Gwen might have expected that reaction. She and Arthur had vastly different views on his father, but she chose not to bring them up, sparing his feelings.

 

“That may be so but this is your kingdom now, not his,” she reasoned gently. “Tell the people that times are different, that such harsh methods are no longer needed when threat isn’t what it was.”

 

“Isn’t it?” he challenged. They both knew what he was thinking; Morgana. If there was a chance she was still alive, maybe she was just waiting for him to drop his guard.

 

Gwen shook her head, genuinely upset. “This isn’t justice though. Camelot should be better than those laws. I mean, they still consider it a crime to even consort with people of magic…”

 

“Most who do so aren’t friends to Camelot. Like my uncle.”

 

Arthur’s face held a tinge of pain under the hard expression. Gwen understood that he’d been stung by betrayal too many times to not be cautious, which was why she was trying to be careful with how she worded this.

 

“What if people are forced to?” she pressed gently. “What if they don’t even realise it? The laws would make them just as culpable, but surely they don’t deserve death too.”

 

Arthur’s sigh was tainted with mild irritation, his patience thinning. He was defensive when being questioned or challenged at the best of times and this was a most sensitive topic.

 

“The law has to be strong, Guinevere, to act as a firm deterrent. I’d rather not use those laws at all but, if it comes to it, I’ll do what I must to see us all safe.”

 

“And has it really proved that good a deterrent?” she asked quietly. “After everything that’s happened?”

 

He was silent, having no answer for that.

 

“I don’t understand this,” he said eventually, arms folded as he looked at her with a frown. “We’ve both lost because of magic. Why would you defend it?”

 

“Because it wasn’t magic that killed my father.”

 

It was his father. Because of his fear of magic.

 

A knock on the door interrupted the long, silent gaze between them and Arthur cleared his throat, stepping back from her and giving the command to enter. Merlin hesitated as he stepped inside, looking between them with a curious frown as though sensing an atmosphere.

 

“Er…sorry…” he said awkwardly. “Arthur you’re need in the audience chamber. The representatives of the trade guild have finally got here.”

 

They were late; they were suppose to have arrived that morning but were slowed by a fierce storm.

 

Arthur looked torn, not wanting to leave Gwen in such a fashion.

 

“Go,” she insisted, pushing him towards his duty. “We’ll have dinner later.”

 

He nodded, placated, kissing her cheek and following Merlin out.

 

When he was gone, Gwen sighed, a troubled expression on her face. Arthur was stubborn and in some ways he was right; magic had brought nothing but misery to their lives. But how much more misery had Uther’s old laws brought to countless others? Which was the lesser of two evils? And could a compromise be met without jeopardising the safety of the kingdom?

 

*********************

 

Arthur was left unsettled by his talk with Gwen, sitting uncomfortably on his throne, mind half elsewhere as members of the trade guild introduced themselves and their craft.

 

He knew that Gwen held little love for his father and for good reason - Uther had ordered her death more than once, had had her father killed and hadn’t approved of Arthur’s relationship with her at all. Frankly, Uther would likely be horrified if he knew who now sat next to his son on the throne. And Arthur wasn’t totally blind; he’d long since accepted that Uther wasn’t a perfect man, king or father. But, then, who was? His father, despite his faults, had always cared deeply about his people; he’d wanted to keep the kingdom safe from harm, determined to stop others from suffering the terrible pain of loss that he’d experienced at the hand of magic. And hadn’t those of magic proved him right over and over with their attacks?

 

But on the other hand, Gwen was hardly known for hysterical or irrational thinking. She was one of calmest and most considerate people he’d ever met. And now she was asking him to reconsider some of their most ingrained laws and it gave him pause for thought. Not only about if she might be right, but whether it was even possible. Arthur didn’t know how he could do what she was asking without casting a shadow on his father’s name and without risking the safety of his kingdom. He certainly didn’t want the reputation of ‘going soft’ and giving anyone out there the idea that they should try their luck at taking Camelot.

 

Conversely, he couldn’t help but wonder if the harshness of the laws drew in those who viciously disagreed with them, inviting trouble. He could wipe out every last, living magic user - or try to - if he wanted to eliminate the threat completely, but how many others would lose their lives along the way? And what about people like the Druids who he’d promised clemency to? Would they just standby and allow it to happen?

 

There was no simple solution and, in comparison, the business of the trade guild seemed dull and unimportant.

 

He was almost glad for the briefest moment when the doors forcibly burst open, effectively silencing the man who’d introduced himself as a representative of the weavers and had been talking about the issue he had with silk merchants.

 

That was until he saw who entered.

 

Morgause - Morgana’s treacherous half-sister, who’d poisoned her mind against them all - strode down the room in riding gear, blonde hair loose and wild, looking as powerful and assured as she’d ever done.

 

“We need to talk, Arthur Pendragon.”

 

Next to him, unnoticed to Arthur, Merlin paled.

 

**********************

 

Merlin was so shocked to see her that he nearly dropped the crown he’d been entrusted to hold - Arthur said the thing was too heavy to wear comfortably for long but it was good politics to have it visible - fumbling to keep it in his grasp. Thankfully, Arthur’s gaze was also drawn to the intruder and he didn’t notice.

 

The knights only hesitated a moment, shocked, before there was the near simultaneous sound of drawing swords, the merchants fleeing to the edges of the room to get away from the expected battle. Morgause was armed too, a sword at her waist, but she didn’t draw it, hand resting lightly on the hilt as she eyed the knights with warning intent.

 

“Hold!” Arthur commanded firmly, standing. A wise move, Merlin thought; Morgause would likely do them much more damage than they would her.

 

The King looked at her with a ruler’s detachment, not betraying anything he might truly feel.

 

“I’m surprised to see you; we assumed you were dead.”

 

“I was,” Morgause replied with characteristic bluntness. “But that does not mean the same to my kind as it does yours. We’re too tied to this world to simply vanish.”

 

Her words seemed near boastful, as if she were looking down on him but, thankfully, Arthur wasn’t drawn by such bait.

 

“What do you want, Morgause?” he demanded, leaving no doubt as to his lack of patience with her. Nor the fact that he had little desire to play games and bandy words. This clearly wasn’t an attack but…

 

Merlin was thinking much the same question. She was supposed to be off retrieving Morgana and heading back to the Isle of the Blessed and had certainly said nothing about coming here. Was Gaius right? Had she betrayed him?

 

Morgause didn’t even look at him.

 

“I’m here to give you a chance to save your sister,” she replied, eyes locked on Arthur.

 

Her words were carefully spoken and had just the effect she desired; Arthur visibly flinched, jaw tightening. Merlin was convinced that Arthur had inwardly decided Morgana was dead and beyond anything he could do for her now. This was not what his conflicted feelings needed to hear.

 

“Out!” he commanded, looking at both the knights and merchants. “Leave us!”

 

The merchants hurried away, the knights withdrawing far more reluctantly.

 

Arthur looked sideways slightly at Merlin but always kept Morgause in his sights.

 

“You too.”

 

“Someone should stay,” Merlin reasoned in a whisper. “Have your back.”

 

“Well, my back feels much safer now…” Arthur grumbled, but he nodded all the same.

 

He stepped down from the platform and Merlin followed him - placing the crown on the throne - coming across to meet Morgause. She still didn’t acknowledge him.

 

“What do you know of my… of Lady Morgana?”

 

Arthur stumbled over the words, looking annoyed with himself, but clearly not knowing what to call her. She wasn’t ‘Lady Morgana’ either any more, but that probably seemed appropriately formal. ‘My sister’ was currently unthinkable.

 

Morgause smiled coolly, pleased to have him unbalanced. “Much more than you ever did, it seems.”

 

Arthur flinched, jaw tightening again.

 

“I’d rather we speak plain.”

 

“Very well. Your carelessness has allowed her to fall under the influence of a powerful sorcerer and she has allied herself with him. I believe that I could persuade her to reason - get her to call a truce with a man who might prove himself an honourable king - but not whilst her reasoning is being poisoned by such a dark force.”

 

Arthur looked…well, perplexed. As he might. He was silent for a long moment and Morgause gave him the chance to think and formulate his next question. But the notion of a truce clearly - and unfortunately, in Merlin’s eyes - immediately caught his interest no matter how hard he tried to hide it under cold indifference.

 

“That sounds like a rather convenient excuse to me,” he pointed out. “That her actions weren’t her own…”

 

“They were entirely her own,” Morgause said boldly, proud even. “Her hatred for this kingdom was well founded. But if we all live in the past then there is no future. I believe that a mutual truce would be beneficial to all.”

 

“But not to this dark sorcerer…”

 

“No, but he will be far less powerful without Morgana at his side.”

 

Merlin knew that was a lie but could say nothing, unable to think of a reason he would know that without making himself look highly suspicious.

 

“And he’s…controlling her?” Arthur continued.

 

“No,” Morgause corrected, not seeming to care that she was talking to a king. Although, Merlin supposed, rumour had it that she'd not shown much respect to Cenred either. “Her mind is being influenced but her actions are her own. Only she believes there is just one path ahead of her. Had the Old Ways still been allowed to flourish, this never would have happened. Morgana would have been identified from a young age and the priestesses would have taught her how to protect herself, alas-”

 

Arthur held up his hand, interrupting her, not wanting to hear a lecture on the past.

 

“So you intend to break this influence; why would I trust her? Or you. Morgana has made herself Camelot’s enemy. My enemy.”

 

“You think this is all about you?” Morgause challenged with a sneer before continuing without allowing him to answer. “I believe I can persuade her to come to peace with you and I think you want the same. If you did not still hold some inkling of care for her, you would have hunted her down already. Are you really saying you would not see you both reconciled if it were possible?”

 

Merlin wished that Arthur would say ‘no’, that he’d remember everything that Morgana had done and see that she could never fully be trusted. But he knew the king better than that.

 

“Or, perhaps more pertinently,” Morgause added when Arthur didn’t answer immediately, “do you really have the stomach to kill her? Because that is where fate will take you if not.”

 

Arthur was very quiet, his face a mask but his eyes storming with emotions.

 

“I don’t wish for that,” he said steadily. “I wish she’d come to me for help a long time ago, before all this had happened.”

 

He sounded bitter, angry and upset. Morgause pounced on that.

 

“Then help her now. Be the better man she once claimed you were.”

 

Merlin could have cursed Morgause for that. She was too clever by half, knowing exactly what to say to make Arthur do what he wished. Some might have called her ‘enchantress’ for it. Merlin called her names that shouldn’t be said aloud by anyone who considered themselves ‘polite’.

 

“And why do you need my help?” Arthur’s expression was grave, arms folded across his chest. He wasn’t saying ‘yes’, but he wanted to know more. “It seems you’d be much better equipped to deal with a dangerous sorcerer than I am.”

 

“Of course,” she said lightly. “But I cannot simply walk into their camp. Morgana would undoubtedly sense my presence and in her current state I cannot tell how she would react. I have no chance of taking her by surprise, but one man might, if he had wits enough to sneak into their camp undetected…”

 

“That’s madness!” Merlin blurted out, unable to stop himself. Arthur walking alone into the camp of the man destined to kill him? It was like she was sending him to his death.

 

Maybe that’d been her plan all along.

 

His outburst earned him a glare from Arthur, the king not liking to show such weakness. He wanted to seem in control here.

 

“Merlin’s rude and unsubtle but he’s essentially right,” he reasoned, turning back to Morgause. “It’s too large a risk. And what am I meant to do if I even get to her? Ask her nicely to come with me?”

 

“I wouldn’t suggest it,” Morgause countered, not appreciating his sarcasm. “I can give you an amulet of powerful magic designed just for her. It will put her instantly to sleep, if you had skill enough to get it around her neck. Then you would be free to bring her back here where I could sever the link that’s holding her.”

 

“Bring the enemy into the heart of Camelot?” Merlin scoffed as though it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.

 

That earned him another glare from Arthur.

 

“What do they say about the enemy of my enemy?” Morgause countered. “She will not appreciate what has been done to her when she learns the truth…”

 

Arthur folded his arms across his chest again, tight and defensive as he took a moment to think.

 

“I need more time to consider it,” he reasoned eventually, making that a demand, not a request. “I’ll give you an answer come morning.”

 

Morgause didn’t look that impressed.

 

“For tonight,” he added, “you can stay as a guest here.”

 

Merlin had to bite his lip very hard to preventing himself for saying something again. How could Arthur be so reckless? He knew Morgana was the man’s sister and he was well aware that Arthur still loved her, but to let Morgause of all people stay in Camelot overnight…

 

She seemed mildly impressed with such courtesies, nodding slightly in acceptance of his offer.

 

“The fact I am willing to remain under your roof, considering your past, should show you the seriousness of my offer. But do not think I trust you; I will defend myself most decisively if I stumble across any fool in my room uninvited.”

 

The warning was quite clear and Arthur nodded before looking at Merlin, indicating for him to show her where she’d be staying with a simple look.

 

“Very well. Then I give you pre-warning to expect to see guards outside your room at all times and you’re not to leave it until I come to see you in the morning.”

 

“Do you not trust me either?” she teased with dry amusement at his caution.

 

“As much as a wolf in a sheep pen,” he said bluntly.

 

She smiled a little at that, impressed maybe - or amused by his chosen analogy - and nodded before turning on her heels and striding towards the door, expecting Merlin to do as his master had said and follow.


	6. Chapter 6

Merlin held his tongue until they were at the guest quarters.

 

“Let me turn down your bed for you,” he said to Morgause with icy politeness, entirely for the sake of the following guards. He entered the room briskly and gave her no opportunity to decline the offer.

 

She closed the door behind herself, leaving the guards outside and stood there looking at him expectantly. Boldly even. It only made him angrier.

 

“You lied to me!” he stated in a hard whisper, fearing being overheard. “This wasn’t part of the plan!”

 

“You failed to ask for the specifics of the plan,” she replied calmly. “That’s your own fault.”

 

“Do not play games with me, Morgause,” he warned dangerously, stepping up to her. She wasn’t phased. “You said this would protect Arthur. Instead you’re sending him straight to the man who’s supposed to kill him.”

 

“You have so little faith in your King? How disappointing…”

 

“I have every faith in him. I just don’t agree with any plan that puts him in danger. I did this to keep him safe.”

 

“I know,” she said, looking up at him without flinching in the face of his anger. “I am very well aware of it, in fact. What I said was entirely true - I cannot walk into that camp without Morgana knowing of my presence. You can though, but I doubted that you’d really just go if I asked…”

 

No, he wouldn’t have. And now she’d used Arthur to force his hand; if Arthur decided to go then Merlin would have no choice but to go with him.

 

“And if Mordred or Morgana can sense me too?” he asked, wondering if she’d even considered that.

 

“Then I suggest you act quickly and keep your King close by.”

 

*********************

 

Arthur sat at his desk, the room lit by a single candle. He preferred it that way, allowing him to keep his focus as he remained deep in thought.

 

Morgana truly was alive then. Somehow he’d known it, even though sense had argued that it couldn’t be the case. He knew her, even this twisted version of her, and she wasn’t one to give up anything so easily, especially life.

 

His heart tightened with conflicted feelings. They’d always been so close, never exactly harmonious but they’d seen the good in each other even if they’d rarely said it. They’d cared for each other, protected each other, he would have died for her... Now she was his enemy - a sorceress who’d tried to take Camelot by force and had tried to kill him. But why? How had she found herself with magic? When had she known? How had she found out? What had happened to her in that year she was gone?

 

Had Morgause twisted her mind or had she really come to hate them of her own accord?

 

So many questions that he’d never had the opportunity to ask, even if he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know the answers.

 

She was his sister and he still loved her as such, that much he was certain of. It meant that he still couldn’t entirely ignore the instinct to protect her. She’d probably laugh at the notion and call him a weak fool but he truly wasn’t sure if it was weakness or strength that still allowed him to care about her after all that’d happened.

 

Would a good king really risk so much for a sister who wanted him dead? Was that a good man or a fool?

 

Gwen brought a candle with her when she arrived but she quickly blew it out, giving him the peace of near darkness. She sat gracefully opposite him, her hand resting on his and fingers gently stroking. She, better than anyone, understood the conflict of this decision.

 

“I heard a little of what happened,” she said eventually, gently pressing for further explanation, their disagreement from earlier entirely pushed aside.

 

He gave it to her, outlining Morgause’s offer - plan? - in clear terms.

 

“Of course,” he finished with a sigh, “most people probably think I’m mad for even contemplating trusting her.” He looked up at Gwen. “What do you think of Morgause? You spent time here with her…”

 

It was not necessarily a time that Gwen was keen to recall but she nodded, understanding his need to ask.

 

“She’s very…steely in her determination and focus,” she reasoned. “Her hatred of your father was very clear.”

 

Arthur stiffened at that reminder and Gwen paused a moment until he relaxed. It was those days that’d broken Uther after all.

 

“But,” Gwen continued, “I saw how she was with Morgana; she loves her more than anything. Which means you can probably trust her intent but not her methods; she’d sacrifice any one of you for her.”

 

Arthur nodded, seeing the sense in Gwen’s words and grateful for her counsel. He squeezed her hand back and then was silent for several long moments.

 

“Part of me wants to help Morgana,” he said before smiling at himself. “I still want to save her because it feels like my job. It always has been.” The smile waned again. “But part of me argues that she doesn’t deserve it after all she’s done.”

 

His sigh was heavy and conflicted, running his free hand back through his hair in frustration.

 

“Part of me wants to try to make peace here and the rest is telling me to wipe out the threat. If I decide to do this I think I should go myself because the responsibility is mine but I also think that would be foolish and I should send someone else.” He looked up. “The King and Arthur aren’t entirely in agreement in this.”

 

Gwen nodded in understanding. “The two can’t be exclusive though - Arthur has to live with the decisions the King makes. The King will err towards sense, Arthur will try to decide what’s ‘right’.”

 

“That’s the problem,” he said heavily. “How am I supposed to know? I could be taking the first steps to secure a more stable future for everyone in my kingdom or I could be leaving it without a king. Why should I risk anything to save her?”

 

**********************

 

The guards followed Arthur into the guest room and he felt no need to stop them. Morgause certainly didn’t seem bothered by it, sitting at the desk, dressed and waiting for him. She was reading some parchment and he’d a sudden instinct to remind her that magic was forbidden in Camelot but quashed the idea as unhelpful.

 

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” he said with formal politeness. “But I haven’t yet made my decision. You’ll have to wait a little longer.”

 

Morgause didn’t seem angry as he might have expected but simply looked at him, as if trying to figure him out or see into the heart of his reasons. She took a thoughtful pause before speaking.

 

“May I speak to you alone?”

 

Arthur hesitated, arms crossed, and then nodded, indicating for the guards to leave. Morgause waited until the door was shut before speaking again.

 

“Is it me you doubt? Or her?”

 

Arthur tensed at that. “Why wouldn’t I doubt her, after all she’s done to us? She tried to kill me. Repeatedly.”

 

Morgause shook her head, almost like she was disappointed. “You don’t understand her at all, do you? You were so blind, all of you.”

 

Immediately that set Arthur on the defensive. Morgause was very good at that.

 

“We loved her,” he reasoned stonily.

 

“And yet she didn’t feel that love enough to trust any of you with her life.”

 

Arthur was tight lipped and silent, that comment cutting a little too close to his own doubts.

 

“Come,” Morgause commanded, standing and going to the bag she’d left on the untouched bed. “Let me show you what you missed before.”

 

She opened it, pulling out a small vial of silver liquid. Arthur was immediately on his guard.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“A simple seeing potion,” she said, quite openly. “A few drops in water will make it a mirror to the past. It will do you no harm.”

 

She almost seemed amused by his concern and that shamed him into trusting her, giving permission with a single nod.

 

She crossed over to a small wash basin, filled with clear, still water. Carefully removing the stopper, she delicately poured in three drops. Arthur, his curiosity getting the better of him, leaned over and watched as the water surface seemed to turn to flowing glass. For a brief moment he saw their reflection, his own distrusting gaze and her smile, then Morgause swept her hand just over the surface and the image vanished.

 

Morgana was there instead, in her old bedroom, sleeping soundly as the moonlight poured through the window. Except, he realised - when his heart had stopped hammering at the sight of the ‘old’ her again - she wasn’t ‘sound’ at all. She murmured quietly, shifting, eyes noticeably flickering under their lids. For a moment she seemed to still and then she moved again sharply, tossing, an unintelligible mumble leaving her lips. Her brow wrinkled in a frown, half way between pain and worry and the heavy blankets seemed to smother her. She became more and more restless, near thrashing in her bed until, suddenly, she woke up with a scream so piercing that even he jumped. She didn’t stop, screaming and screaming, face utterly terrified, until Gwen rushed into the room and gathered her into her arms. Morgana seemed to collapse against her, sobbing. Desperate and afraid.

 

He’d never seen her like that.

 

“I knew she had nightmares,” he reasoned quietly. “I didn’t know they were that bad.”

 

He’d teased her about them back then - accusing her of being scared of foolish, childish things - and she’d always joked back, never showing any hint of this kind of terror. The only time he’d seen her close to this is when she’d run into the courtyard in her nightgown, begging him not to go on his quest. It’d been disturbing to see her so undone. This was something else though.

 

“She has the gift of foresight,” Morgause explained with dispassionate patience, clearly having no intention of soothing him however he felt. “More powerfully than anyone I’ve ever known. It can be a burden as much as a gift, because she cannot choose what she sees.”

 

“And what’s that?”

 

“Important warnings of things to come. Death. Most often yours in those days.”

 

He felt a momentary pang of guilt before his jaw tightened, suddenly feeling like he was being toyed with there - ‘poor Morgana kept seeing your death and you didn’t care’. He wasn’t a man who liked to be manipulated. Although, he recalled Morgana had always been very good at it so he shouldn’t be surprised that it was a talent her sister shared.

 

“She should’ve told me outright instead of playing games,” Arthur said firmly, the underlying meaning there quite pointed.

 

She should have been honest with him about everything.

 

“Really?” Morgause challenged. “She should have admitted foresight in a kingdom that treats magic with death? Do you think her so foolish?”

 

She swept her hand over the bowl before Arthur could answer, the scene changing.

 

Morgana was standing at her window now, looking out at something unknown, Gwen close behind her.

 

“You should speak to the King.”

 

“And tell him what? That I can see the future?”

 

Arthur could hear the fear underlying Morgana's voice, that crack there that betrayed her.

 

“If you think Arthur’s life is in danger…”

 

“You know how he’d react.”

 

“You’re his ward, he wouldn’t harm you.”

 

Gwen seemed so certain, so honest in her belief. It was vain hope more than anything. She must've known what would happen.

 

“He hates magic more than he care for me.”

 

“That’s not true.”

 

“Would you care to put it to the test?”

 

Gwen’s silence was a clear response to that and Arthur couldn’t really disagree with her. He’d seen how his father had turned on Morgana when she angered him, if he’d found out she had magic…

 

“He loved her,” he said stubborn, a denial to himself. “She was his daughter. He wouldn’t have harmed her.”

 

“A magical, illegitimate daughter,” Morgause said skeptically. “He’d probably have swung the axe himself and done it in public as a lesson to anyone who dared have magic in his kingdom.”

 

That angered Arthur but he found it hard to truly argue with it. Perhaps he wouldn't have acted so extremely, but his father had felt nothing stronger than his hatred of magic. If he’d found out about her there would have been no guarantees as to what he might have done. Morgana must have been well aware of the consequences and Arthur could understand her fear, but still…

 

“She should’ve come to me,” Arthur insisted again. “I would’ve protected her.”

 

How she could ever doubt that was a wound to him.

 

“She tried to get help,” Morgause said swiftly, pouncing on that, swiping her hand over the surface again.

 

Gaius this time, Morgana standing in front of him fretting and looking worried. The old physician just nodded calmly.

 

“These are just dreams, Morgana, nothing more. Are you taking the sleeping draught I made up for you?”

 

“It doesn’t help.”

 

“Here, try this. It will induce a deeper sleep.”

 

He handed her a vial and she hardly looked comforted.

 

Arthur frowned, remembering and suddenly thoughtful. “He was making those draughts for her for years. Did he know? What it really was?”

 

“Yes,” Morgause said bluntly, with no attempt to cushion the reveal of such a lie.

 

Arthur took a deep, uncomfortable breath.

 

“Why didn’t he tell me?”

 

“Perhaps he didn’t trust you with her life any more than he trusted Uther.”

 

Arthur looked at her steadily, thoughful but troubled. It was disturbing to him to feel like those around him didn't trust him.

 

“But he had no right,” Morgause continued, calm but clearly angry. “To keep this from her and try to deny what she was. He left her terrified and alone, thinking she was falling into madness or worse.”

 

“He was trying to help her,” Arthur reasoned. To keep her safe from his father. It was a truly unsettling thought.

 

“He failed.”

 

The swipe of her hand across the bowl was sharper this time and Arthur saw Morgana talking to the Witch Finder. No, being interrogated by him. He stiffened; it was clear from the look on her face that she was terrified and, knowing what he did now, it was obvious that she would be. Had he known he never would have allowed such a thing to take place. But there was a lot he hadn’t known, that much was becoming abundantly clear.

 

“She must have thought it was only a matter of time,” Morgause said bluntly. “That Uther would find out and you would all fall in line behind him like you always had done. Then she would have no one and be left to face death.”

 

“That’s not true,” Arthur bit back.

 

“Really?” Morgause challenged. “She saw you condemn many people to death on your father’s word, why not her? She took refuge amongst the druids and you had them all killed.”

 

Her hand flicked sharply over the bowl, the surface swirling.

 

Arthur heard the screams before the vision even settled, the druids running for their lives as he and his knights hunted them down. He knew that few would survive. A tall, dark skinned man was helping Morgana, his arm around her as she limped.

 

He was helping her. And then one of the knights shot him.

 

Arthur’s stomach lurched. He’d had no idea; he thought he was rescuing her. The vision flickered and Morgana was being welcomed back by Uther. The look on her face was numb.

 

“She betrayed us,” he said hollowly, trying to remind himself of that and hold on to it. Whatever had happened to her, it didn’t justify what she’d done since.

 

“Before you betrayed her,” Morgause pointed out steadily. “You were crown prince of Camelot, she was an orphaned girl living on the charity of others - who had the power there? She did what she had to do to survive in a kingdom that would see her dead for what she was, regardless of anything she ever did. I gave her everything you didn’t - power, belief and a love which was unconditional.”

 

“You turned her into our enemy.” His words were numb now though, with less conviction.

 

“I kept her alive and gave her hope. If anyone turned her heart to hatred, it was your father and his murderous regime. That’s what his kind do to good people.”

 

The swipe this time was positively vicious and it showed Arthur what he never wanted to see, but couldn’t avoid. Uther, a younger man, stood on the balcony over the courtyard, giving a speech to a group of people below. But these weren’t willing townsfolk, listening to their king. They were prisoners, dishevelled and frightened, surrounded by a tight group of guards. Uther’s words were grave, talking about the evils of magic, eyes burning with almost maniacal hatred, and then finally he nodded. A far too casual a symbol to start such slaughter. Arthur didn’t want to see it but he forced himself to look. He knew the evil of magic first hand - knew that it had to firmly dealt with - but even he wouldn’t have condoned this. These were simple people, not warriors. Families. Those who were standing were quickly run through, men, women and children alike. Those who tried to run were hunted down and dragged to the floor to be dealt with. Babes in arms were casually thrown into the well. He’d never seen anything more terrible.

 

“That’s the kingdom you inherited,” Morgause said coldly, although her voice was tight and affected by the sight. These had been her people. “The laws you still seem so keen to uphold. Is anything deserving of that?”

 

The answer was clearly ‘no’. His mother’s death had been a tragedy, but he couldn’t imagine that she’d have ever wanted such a thing in return.

 

Morgause looked at him steadily and for a moment he could see what Morgana probably had; she made a most persuasive tutor. “Do you want to be the king who continued down such a cruel path, through so many deaths or the one who brought peace?”

 

Her hand seemed ready to move again but he stopped her with a gesture.

 

“I’ve seen enough.”

 

**********************

 

“You’re mad.”

 

“Thank you for your vote of confidence, Merlin.”

 

Merlin didn’t say anything else for a moment. He was hoping to get to talk to Arthur before he made up his mind, to convince him that going on such a mission himself would be highly dangerous. Instead he was summoned and told to pack a small amount of supplies for the journey and to ready the king’s armour.

 

“You can’t possibly trust Morgause,” he reasoned, not moving to pack at all.

 

Arthur looked at him directly. “No. Not entirely. But she is right about one thing - my options are to indiscriminately wipe out the rest of those with magic or to try to broker some kind of peace. How can I do that if I’m still fighting my own sister? Morgana deserves a final chance.”

 

“Really?” Merlin asked, not meaning to sound so openly sceptical.

 

“Morgause showed me some things,” Arthur explained quietly.

 

Merlin instantly tensed for a moment. Remembering the poison in his hand and Morgana choking in his arms; the moment that had turned her away from them, justified or no. Surely Arthur didn’t mean that? How could he be so calm?

 

“Morgana’s actions aren’t right,” Arthur continued firmly. “She needs to show remorse for what she’s done. But I accept that had she been able to trust me, none of this would have happened. I owe her one last chance at peace to make up for that.”

 

Obviously Morgause hadn’t revealed the poison to him and Merlin couldn’t help but wonder why, before reminding himself that she was entirely self serving - it suited her to have Merlin around at the moment. Although he couldn’t help but wonder what she might do when it didn’t.

 

Merlin continued to protest as he followed Arthur down to the council chamber - entirely neglecting to do any packing. Okay, he accepted that Arthur wanted someone to go, but why did it have to be him? He could send other knights. But, Arthur argued, what kind of gesture of trust and reconciliation was it if he didn’t do it himself? He’d once promised peace to the likes of the druids - perhaps it was time to offer more than a simple truce.

 

Sir Leon was no happier than Merlin was when Arthur told him to pick two men to accompany them - Arthur reasoning that they didn’t need many to retrieve Morgana, but it was wise to have some added protection on the journey. The senior knight instantly looked incredulous and then, when Arthur didn’t falter, looked toward Gwen - who’d joined them on Arthur’s request - perhaps hoping that the Queen would be able to talk sense into him. She said nothing though and Sir Leon was forced to openly protest.

 

“Sire, the risk is too great. Lady Morgana has made her position quite clear and the sorceress Morgause is not trustworthy. It must be a trap of some kind.”

 

“That’s why I want you to pick a couple of good men to accompany us - the sort who are good at getting out of traps.”

 

“Sire…”

 

“I have two choices,” Arthur said firmly, loud enough for them all to hear “To try to heal the rifts and wounds in this land, or to wipe out those who oppose me. I won’t be that king without giving people a chance first. Morgana and those like her aren’t just going to turn round and start liking me - I have to show them that I’m the better man. A king worth trusting in. Or else we go to war over and over and more people die.”

 

Like Isolde had, in this very room.

 

He looked at Gwen steadily, drawing her aside a moment.

 

“Morgause showed me some things,” he explained to her quietly. “What Morgana’s dreams were like.”

 

Gwen nodded in understanding. “She went through some very bad times with them,” she recalled. “Some weeks, she barely got any sleep at all, and when she awoke…”

 

“I saw,” he said quietly. “It didn’t seem like her at all. Did you know what they were?”

 

“I suspected,” she confessed. “Sometimes. I guess I just didn’t want to believe it. I was worried about what it might mean or where it might leave her.”

 

Arthur squeezed her hand gently. He might have done the same back then; denial was sometimes the safest option.

 

“I knew Morgana once,” he said, turning back to the others again. “We all did. I don’t believe that woman’s gone entirely and I won’t brush aside one last opportunity to bring her back. I have to try.”

 

Leon and Merlin were both quiet, serious looks on their faces. By contrast, Gwen smiled, stepping up to Arthur and kissing his cheek.

 

“Do what’s right,” she assured him. “Just come back to me safely.”


	7. Chapter 7

Arthur unfurled the map, using the light of the camp fire to read it. Gwaine and Percival had ridden beside him without question all day, hardly silent - Gwaine was rarely silent - but they hadn’t queried Arthur’s plan or motives. It was refreshing after the hounding he’d had from Merlin and Leon. The latter he’d asked to stay behind, to help defend Camelot and ensure things went smoothly for Gwen. Merlin had been more insistent though, Arthur attempted to argue with him, but his servant won out when he’d reasoned that if he didn’t go Arthur would have to rely on Percival’s cooking.

 

The two knights were a good pick - brawn and cunning - and now that they’d stopped for the night, they both listened silently to the explanation that Arthur had only revealed to Merlin so far.

 

“The camp Morgana is staying at is here,” he said, a gloved finger pointing at a range of mountains on the map. “Morgause said they’ve been there all winter and are unlikely to move any time soon.”

 

“Do we know who she’s with?” Percival asked, instantly thinking of battle.

 

“Other magic users. Druids. No one we know as far as I’m aware.”

 

Merlin almost scoffed.

 

“Didn’t you say something about a powerful sorcerer?” Percival added.

 

“Yes,” Arthur reasoned. “I plan on staying as far out of his way as possibly.”

 

Gwaine was frowning, looking more closely at the map. “These mountains are on the borders of three kingdoms. The side in Camelot is the hardest to climb and the most open. You’d find it hard to sneak up on anyone going that way.”

 

Arthur nodded in agreement, having come to the same conclusion himself.

 

“The other two are better but one is in Lot’s kingdom and I think we’re courting enough trouble on this journey as it is.”

 

“The third?”

 

“Mithian’s kingdom.”

 

Gwaine grinned. “That could be awkward.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Arthur scolded. “We parted as friends.”

 

“I’m just saying,” Gwaine said lightly, “hell hath no fury…”

 

Arthur gave him a dry look.

 

“We need to go up that side, but I won’t just trespass on her land. Her capital is less than half a day inside the border. I intend to visit her and ask for her permission.”

 

“And if she says ‘no’?” Merlin asked. It seemed unlikely he’d give up and go home but…

 

“She won’t,” Arthur insisted.

 

“That confident of your charm, hmm?”

 

Arthur rolled his eyes.

 

**********************

 

The walls of Camelot were thick and strong but when the castle was quiet, voices drifted.

 

“The queen’s a fine woman and I have great respect for her. But she is still a woman.”

 

“So?”

 

“Well she isn’t a soldier for a start; what does she know about leading people? About battle? What if a real problem crops up?”

 

“Isn’t that what you’re here for?”

 

“That’s not the point. Camelot needs a leader and the queen…she has a soft heart.”

 

“You wouldn’t say that if you grew up with her.”

 

Leon and Elyan stopped talking as soon as Gwen entered the council chambers, clearly thinking they’d not been overheard. They were wrong. Gwen had caught every word of that and her blood chilled, stomach churning with fresh disquiet. Elyan had been defending her but he was her brother, and if the other knights thought as Leon did… She said nothing though, her face betraying nothing, determined to do a good job at this meeting and show her competence. Arthur had only been gone one day and she had to make sure that everyone had complete faith in her ability to rule in his absence. She couldn’t do that by showing them her own doubts, giving them the notion that they were right to doubt her too.

 

The meeting passed swiftly and she held her demeanour throughout - the business covered was thankfully minor and everyone nodded politely as she left, seeming reasonably satisfied with how she’d handled things. She all but fled to Gaius’s chambers though. With Arthur and Merlin both gone, there was no one else she could confide in. Elyan, she supposed, but he was a knight too and she wanted him to keep the earlier conviction he’d shown, not give him cause to have qualms about her as well. Gaius on the other hand would understand without judgement. He’d been such a source of support over the years.

 

Unfortunately, she hadn’t envisioned finding Morgause there too.

 

“My lady,” Gaius smiled as Gwen welcomed her in. “I trust this visit doesn’t mean you’re unwell.”

 

Gwen’s eyes were on the other woman curiously. “No. Not unwell.”

 

Gaius noted her gaze.

 

“Morgause is here looking for ingredients for the potion she needs to make,” he explained. “Arthur said I should help her where I could.”

 

Morgause acknowledged her, nodding in greeting, but said nothing and went back to her work. Gwen had no idea what Morgause thought of her - was it anger because she was Queen of Camelot in what she likely saw as Morgana’s rightful place? Disgust at what she considered betrayal when Gwen chose to side with Arthur instead? - but whatever it was, Gwen doubted it was complimentary.

 

Gaius, meanwhile, indicated for Gwen to sit on the bench at the other end of the room, out of earshot.

 

“Not a seat fit for a queen, I’m afraid,” he said with a kind smile.

 

She smiled back. They both knew such things didn’t matter.

 

“I don’t feel like much of a queen at the moment,” she confessed.

 

“Oh?”

 

She confided what she’d overheard, Gaius listening well and looking at her with sympathy.

 

“Sir Leon has been a knight here for many years,” he reasoned when she’d finished. “He has a certain way of doing things. I wouldn’t take it personally.”

 

“It’s hard not to. It seems a woman is considered a suitable queen as long as she doesn’t actually have any real power.”

 

There was a bitterness to her tone and in truth she was somewhat annoyed at Arthur and the disagreement they’d had over the magic user. What was the point of being queen if she couldn’t use her position to help others or if no one trusted the decisions she made? He hadn’t exactly told her to not get involved but he had rather suggested that she didn’t quite understand the situation.

 

“Camelot hasn’t had a queen in a long time,” Gaius reminded her. “Longer than the majority can remember. That gives you freedom to decide what you want a queen to be.”

 

“She should be useful,” Gwen said without hesitation. “Not just a court decoration. But how I can actually be of use…” That was the issue. “Leon’s right - I don’t have any experience of battle or leading. What if something does happen?”

 

“Then you’ll do the wise thing - you’ll listen to others and make the right choice, exactly as Arthur would. You know how he loves Camelot. He’d never leave you in charge if he didn’t have confidence that you’ll look after her well.”

 

“She is his one true love,” Gwen smiled, seeing the truth in that.

 

Gaius looked a little saddened.

 

“Come now. That’s not true.”

 

“Of course it is,” she replied softly. “And I accept that. It’s how it must be. How it should be. I just want to do him proud.”

 

“And yourself proud.”

 

Gwen’s smile widened. “Yes, that too.”

 

“Well I have faith in you.”

 

“A good start then. Just the rest of Camelot to go.”

 

**********************

 

Arthur didn’t kneel before Mithian - he was a fellow ruler after all - but he bowed his head graciously as he was brought before her in her throne room. And it was hers now, ruling as Queen Regent with dozens of suitors vying for her hand and all the time in the world to make her decision. She seemed happy with it, which Arthur was glad for. She was a fine woman.

 

“Queen Mithian,” he greeted. “It’s a blessing to see you again.”

 

“Your visit is most unexpected, King Arthur,” she said, smiling. “Although not unwelcome.”

 

“I’m glad. I always hoped we could remain friends.”

 

“Camelot has been a good friend to us. The grain you sent helped our people greatly through such a vile winter.”

 

“We do not wish to see our friends suffer.”

 

“You are keen to recall our friendship,” Mithian said shrewdly, although her smile remained. More amused than suspicious. “And I presume you did not come all this way to exchange pleasantries.”

 

“No,” Arthur admitted before hesitating. There were so many people here - lords, ladies and knights. All of them strangers and none the sort he felt comfortable discussing such a personal matter in front of.

 

Mithian was perceptive.

 

“I have beautiful gardens here. Far lovelier than those in Camelot; allow me to boastfully show them off to you. Your companions will be shown all hospitality whilst they wait.”

 

Arthur nodded gratefully.

 

“I’d like to see anything which someone believes can outshine Camelot.”

 

People shifted as Mithian rose, making a path for her. Guards followed her down the small steps but she dismissed them as unnecessary before giving orders to her handmaidens to look after King Arthur’s companions. Gwaine definitely perked up at that and Arthur glared at him to behave.

 

Mithian’s boast was not an idle one, the gardens were utterly beautiful. There was a wildness to them, an almost overgrown look that gave them peace. More importantly, it gave them privacy.

 

“I should congratulate you on your marriage,” Mithian said softly, arm linked through his as they walked. “It seems you found your lady in the end after all.”

 

Arthur nodded, a little awkward, delicate of her feelings. Mithian truly was a wonderful woman and had things been different…

 

“I was sorry you couldn’t come.”

 

“Your invitation was well received,” Mithian assured him. “But with my father’s health so fragile at the time…”

 

He nodded in understanding; she’d not only wanted to be at his side, but she hadn’t been able to risk not being there when he died and having some lord try to take the kingdom from her.

 

“I hear you’ve had many suitors since,” he grinned. “A beautiful, intelligent, kind queen - men must be stepping over each other to win your favour.”

 

She laughed slightly, “Yes but none as yet who can ride or shoot better than I can, so I remain unimpressed.”

 

Arthur frowned in realisation. “Have you been…testing them?”

 

“Of course!”

 

He laughed as well. Yes, that would be just like her.

 

“Now,” she said, more seriously, “as I said, you didn’t come all this way to trade pleasantries and ask about my suitors.”

 

Arthur nodded in acknowledgement. “I need to ask your permission to remain on your lands for a day or two.”

 

“Oh?”

 

He told her about his mission. Not everything exactly - not what he’d learnt about Morgana or seen of his father’s brutal crackdown which had helped change his mind. Simply that he’d learnt that his sister was being manipulated and he wanted one last opportunity at reconciling with her.

 

“You’re risking much…” Mithian reasoned when he’d finished his explanation. He presumed she wasn’t simply pointing that out - he was no fool and realised that himself - but it was more a roundabout way of asking ‘why?’

 

He didn’t feel like divulging the full truth - his underlying sense of guilt and the idea that he was making up for what his father had done - but there was something else, something he’d only really shared with Gwen.

 

“She’s my sister,” he said quietly. “Even after all she’s done, and I’ve never really had a chance to act on that since I found out. This seems like something a brother would do.”

 

Mithian smiled at him gently.

 

“Indeed, it does.”

 

Arthur smiled back, sadness there. “Morgana was very fond of telling me that I was a better man than my father. Call it pride, but I want her to see that again. I want to prove her right.”

 

“Her opinion still matters to you?”

 

He hadn’t really considered that before but when he thought on it now only one answer sprung to mind.

 

“Yes, it does.”

 

“That’s good.”

 

“Is it?”

 

“It seems to me like something a better man would care about.”

 

In some ways Arthur felt it was wrong to be so swayed by the opinion of a woman who was barely more than an acquaintance, but it did make him feel better to hear it from an outsider who’d no attachment to this and could give their honest word.

 

“Of course you’re welcome in my land,” she assured. “I know that mountain-side well; we hid supplies and weaponry there long ago. We were thinking of using it as a potential rallying point in case of attack. There are several well hidden paths which I can have someone show you.”

 

“Thank you,” Arthur said with a nod, genuinely touched.

 

“Just try not to die on my lands; the diplomacy would be horrendous.”

 

*********************

 

Camelot was almost utterly silent and so Elyan didn’t draw his sword until the very last moment, worried about the sound alerting the stranger. Elyan had always been nimble - even as a boy, clambering around his father’s workshop - and his feet were quiet on the cobbles, taking him within reaching distance of the man who the lookout had spotted sneaking in one of the side gates. The lookout had been smart - far smarter than the men on duty at the gate who would get a grilling later for their slackness - alerting Elyan quickly and subtly. A sneaking man might be up to simple theft or illicit dealings, or he may be involved in something far more sinister. It was much better to catch him and find out what than just scare him off.

 

Making his move, Elyan moved with the swiftness of the best training, drawing his blade and pressing it at the man’s unguarded back. The man jolted in surprise and Elyan nudged him into the moonlight with the blade’s tip.

 

“You’d think a man hiding in shadows in the middle of night would be more aware of his surroundings…” he challenged, heart still pounding with the mixture of thrill and tension after his silent pursuit.

 

“You’d think the same of a knight of Camelot,” the man retorted.

 

Fortunately, for the sake of his own life, Elyan was. He heard the swift footsteps at the last moment, turning to block the attack from the man who’d sneaked up behind him with skill. Released, the first man drew a blade of his own, two others emerging from the shadows. Elyan might have been worried about being so badly outnumbered, but he knew his fellow knights well. At the first clash of blades he heard the alarm call and steps running towards him, assistance swiftly on the way.

 

In the meantime, he tried to keep all the attackers occupied. These intruders clearly meant dangerous business and must not get away.

 

**********************

 

“Where’s your yarrow?” Morgause demanded.

 

Gaius raised an eyebrow at her but she didn’t apologise, just looked at him steadily, waiting for an answer. She’d no time for politeness and he deserved none of hers. Not to mention that her mood was prickled with her worry. She’d have much preferred to have gone after Morgana herself - she’d look after her and keep her safe, no matter what - rather than send that boy sorcerer and his king. Merlin could simply not be trusted.

 

“Third shelf, near the far end,” Gaius finally answered when it became apparent she wasn’t going to sweeten her manner of asking.

 

Why should she? He may have saved her life by smuggling her to the High Priestesses, but he’d then stood by and allowed hundreds of others to die, remaining here as Uther’s loyal physician and abandoning his devotion to the Goddess. He was a traitor at worst and a coward at best. She only worked with him now due to necessity; he kept all the ingredients and equipment she needed here.

 

She fetched the jar in question, carefully measuring out just the right amount. The spell required great precision and delicacy and she doubted there was another alive that was capable of it. Potion making was an art and she was a mistress of it.

 

She saw Gaius watching her but ignored him entirely. He wasn’t important.

 

The icy atmosphere was interrupted by Gwen hurrying in, looking flustered. She composed herself just for a moment upon seeing Morgause - although not well enough - telling Gaius that she wished to speak to him.

 

Morgause glanced up as they moved to the other side of the room and spoke in low voices but, just as she had done so before, she muttered a spell, allowing her to hear every word. No one here was above suspicion.

 

“They managed to defeat three of them but one escaped,” Gwen was saying worriedly.

 

“And they were Lot’s men, you say?” Gaius asked, just as concerned.

 

“Elyan said they had a particular style of weapons that he arms his men with and he’s been snapping at our borders for months. If he knows Arthur’s away…”

 

“I’m sure you’ll do the right thing,” Gaius soothed but Gwen continued to look dismayed, clearly not having wanted to deal with such a thing in Arthur’s absence.

 

It was some credit to Arthur’s character that he’d married a commoner - Morgause was sure his father never would have allowed it. Guinevere seemed like a sensible and determined woman, but she’d also openly betrayed Morgana and that left Morgause indifferent to her overall. Still, she was a woman and Morgause knew the Goddess respected all of their gender, no matter how misguided they were, and it infuriated her to see Gaius offering the woman nothing but platitudes when clearly she wanted advice.

 

“If he knows Arthur’s away then he’ll want to take advantage of that,” she said aloud, drawing their attention to her. Gaius looked affronted that she’d been eavesdropping, but there was a hint of cautious interest in Gwen’s face. Perhaps she glad that someone was acknowledging what she feared. “I would expect an attack.”

 

“A quickly mounted one,” Gwen said slowly, thinking it through now she’d been given the confidence of someone agreeing with her. “Before I have a chance to send word to Arthur and he can return.”

 

Morgause nodded, pleased to see her using her mind. “Yes. A small force - maybe hoping to take you and use you as leverage. There won’t be time to ready a larger one, nor a full out assault.” It was what she would do in the circumstances and, from what she knew of Lot, he was certainly as ruthless.

 

“You’re not in any danger,” Gaius assured, looking annoyed at Morgause for making Gwen worry about that.

 

Gwen just held up her hand though, a gesture that was probably supposed to tell him it was okay but instead seemed to silence him. Determination was on her face. Maybe she didn’t like the notion that she could be used in such a ploy.

 

“Then, I should take our enemies’ lesson,” she said steadily, looking at Morgause. There was a fire in her eyes which pleased the sorceress. “Anyone can use spies.”


	8. Chapter 8

Arthur looked over his shoulder with a grimace of disdain as Merlin puffed along behind him, out of breath and red with heat despite the freezing wind and falling snow. Merlin would be the first to admit that he’d never be as physically fit as Arthur - the man had spent every day since childhood training to be a knight and practising those skills, he was bound to be in good condition - but even he didn’t expect to find himself quite so lacking in comparison. After all, his days were filled with scrubbing, cleaning, carrying and fetching, it was hardly like he sat around reading parchments or something. He would’ve expected to be a bit fitter than his current flushed face and puffing breath suggested. Obviously servant’s duties were no training for climbing up precarious mountain paths.

 

“Do you want to wait here?” Arthur asked, that grimace not fading.

 

“Nope,” Merlin huffed through his breathlessness, trying to sound bright and easy. “I’m fine, carry on.”

 

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” Arthur reasoned dryly. “It’s everyone within ten leagues hearing you wheezing like an old steel bellows.”

 

“Well,” Merlin retorted, clapping him on the back as he continued passed him, deciding if he stopped he might not start again, “if you’re really lucky I might drop dead before we reach the top.”

 

Arthur grumbled something and moved on, quickly re-passing him.

 

Arthur hadn’t wanted Merlin to come along in the first place. They couldn’t risk taking even a small force into the camp since it increased their chances of being spotted and potentially drawing the attentions of this sorcerer. No, it was far better for one man to go alone. Gwaine and Percival had reluctantly agreed, saying they’d wait half way up the path to aid Arthur’s escape if necessary. Merlin had immediately argued though. Not using the truth, of course. He couldn’t openly say that the young sorcerer who was destined to kill Arthur was waiting in that camp. Instead he’d pointed out that Arthur should have someone around to watch his back. Arthur had reasoned that Merlin was just as likely to accidentally fall into his back as protect it but he’d reluctantly agreed to let him come. If he didn’t, he reasoned, Merlin would probably come blundering after him anyway and blow his cover.

 

Although with all snide comments he’d had to put up with since, Merlin was beginning to wonder if he should’ve just let him go alone.

 

Finally, the slope of the path eased and they came to a tree line. The camp was supposedly just beyond this and Arthur became more cautious, sword drawn as they progressed into the woods.

 

They were silent for a long while before the king spoke again, his voice more troubled this time. More open.

 

“I’m honestly not sure I’m ready to meet her again,” he said quietly, not looking at Merlin although the sorcerer could see the tension in his shoulders.

 

“A bit late for that now,” Merlin half joked but there was an edge of understanding in his voice. He had no siblings, he couldn’t truly appreciate what Arthur felt for her. Nor did he believe she deserved it but Arthur was a good man; he wouldn’t just care where it was deserved.

 

“I doubt she’s going to be pleased to see me,” Arthur continued, a trace of bitter amusement.

 

“Just be careful; you can’t trust her, remember? Even Morgause thought that. If you can’t get that necklace on her quickly you might have to-”

 

He couldn’t say it, for Arthur’s sake. It was enough to hint at it.

 

“It won’t come to that,” Arthur said firmly. “I’ll bring her back.”

 

Inwardly, Merlin tensed, seeing the danger in that statement. This was supposed to be a last chance for Morgana which meant that Arthur was supposed to deal with her decisively if things didn’t go to plan. It seemed though that he’d no intention of doing that. Merlin rather doubted that Morgana would give him the same kindness.

 

A dozen paces more and Arthur threw his arm out, stopping Merlin abruptly, winding him.

 

“Movement up ahead,” he said, voice dropping to a whisper and not a word of apology to Merlin who was rubbing his stomach. Silently he pointed to a large tree and indicated for Merlin to follow. They couldn’t go much further - if people from the camp were patrolling here, they risked their footprints being spotted before the slow snowfall filled them again. Instead, Arthur began to climb the tree, a hardy mountain variety that still had its thick, needle like leaves. Enough to give them cover if they positioned themselves right.

 

Arthur reached down to help Merlin up and then climbed higher - too high really for Merlin’s liking - positioning himself on what he obviously considered was a sturdy branch. It felt flimsy to Merlin but he said nothing, suspecting that Arthur had done much more tree climbing than he ever had.

 

“There,” Arthur whispered when Merlin finally reached him.

 

In a clearing ahead, on the mountain plateau, was the camp. Not many people by the looks of it; a few dozen at most, and hardly an elite force. The majority seemed to be simple people going about simple chores; washing clothes, collecting firewood, milking goats…

 

Instantly Merlin wondered if everything Morgause had said and shown him had been a lie; this was no great army preparing to destroy Camelot. It was just a group of displaced commoners, eking out a living on rough land. He was beginning to wonder whether Mordred or Morgana were here at all - thinking sudden horrible thoughts about what Morgause might be doing back at Camelot - when one of the people put their firewood down and lit it with a quick, easy spell.

 

Merlin stopped. Stopped thinking and wondering and just paused a moment, giving himself time to feel what he should have before; all these people had magic. No great power amongst them but he could feel the spark of it on the air, like a warmth hidden in the chill breeze which made his blood take note. Looking more closely he thought he even recognised some of them. Former residents of Camelot maybe? People who’d fled the threat of Uther’s persecution.

 

His heart sank a little. Is this what the people of magic were reduced to still, even now Arthur was king were they too scared to go home?

 

Although why wouldn’t they be he supposed grimly; the laws against magic still stood and, for the most part, Arthur had always upheld them.

 

Suddenly Arthur gripped his arm tightly; Morgana walked across the camp, her full black cloak standing out starkly against the white snow. She paused, talking to a woman with a babe in her arms, nodding at something she was saying before carrying on. Merlin felt Arthur’s grip on his arm tighten to the point that it was almost painful.

 

He was about to complain, but that tight grip suddenly became vital; he probably would’ve fallen out of the tree without it. The force of magic hit him like a sharp wave, almost painful in the sudden rush of intensity. Startled, his foot slipped on the branch beneath him and Arthur gave him a wild-eyed glare as he steadied him. Merlin mouthed ‘sorry’ but he was much more distracted by what he saw; Mordred, walking across and greeting Morgana, talking to her as his smiles showed a boyish affection.

 

He wasn’t really a boy now though, most definitely a young man. And his magic had grown. Merlin could feel it like it was clawing at his skin, wanting to get at him, to challenge him. Suddenly his heart beat faster; could Mordred sense him too? It could’ve been a terrible mistake to follow Arthur here, putting him in greater danger rather than keeping him safe.

 

Arthur didn’t seem to recognise Mordred from this distance and Merlin supposed why would he; he’d met the boy only a couple of times many years ago and he’d no reason to think he’d ever see him again. Merlin had tried a dozen times to think of a way to warn Arthur in the past, but there didn’t seem to be a solution. Even if he brought up the druid boy Arthur had once helped that wouldn’t make Arthur see him as an enemy and what was Merlin supposed to say? That a dragon told him he’d kill Arthur?

 

All Merlin could do now was not underestimate the young man and feeling the strength of his powers there was little danger of that.

 

“It’ll be dark in an hour,” Arthur whispered, troubled eyes following Morgana as she headed back to her tent. “I’ll go then.”

 

“We’ll go then,” Merlin insisted.

 

“One man job, remember?”

 

Merlin decided that arguing was useless. Far better to just ignore him and follow at a safe distance.

 

**********************

 

The camp fires still looked dangerously bright, but as the sun dipped below the horizon Arthur plotted out a route through the shadows. The tent Morgana had gone into was on the edge of the camp; if he stuck to the outskirts he should be able to get to it unseen. There were no guards or patrols, and he supposed they weren’t expecting to be tackled up here. Nor, fortunately, had he seen any sign of this powerful sorcerer. At least, no one who’d looked like what he imagined a powerful sorcerer would. Perhaps he wasn’t at camp.

 

“Stay here,” he ordered Merlin in a sharp whisper, hoping that he’d listen for once. The last thing he needed was to have to rescue his servant from an ill conceived attempt to help.

 

The thick snow muffled the sound of his landing as he climbed to the ground but he still hesitated, entirely still, checking no one had heard. Then he began to move, keeping low as he skirted around the edge of the camp with his senses on high alert. His footsteps in the snow might give away the route of their escape but there was nothing he could do about that. He just had to be quick and silent and give himself as much of a head start as possible.

 

Not that his heart seemed to heed the necessity for silence, hammering in his chest so hard that he swore it’d be heard for miles. Beating just as violently as it had a year ago when he’d thrown open doors to the throne room to confront Morgana. The mixture of love and hatred that he’d felt back then was a potent war and it’d barely calmed even now. Nothing about this was going to be easy but he was determined to see it through.

 

After having one last look for potential trouble, he hurried around and entered her tent in a single, swift movement, taking advantage of seeing no one around and not giving himself a chance to think about what was about to happen. He prepared to all but launch himself at her, to throw his drawn sword aside and tackle her to the ground in order to stop her using magic on him as he took her by surprise. Yet he found her asleep.

 

God, she looked young. She was a couple of years older than him but suddenly she looked smaller than she ever had, vulnerable almost, a troubled expression on her face that gave him pause. It was difficult to remember her threats and the danger she posed when she looked like this. A powerful, protective instinct rose in him, something he knew she’d probably hate even if she wasn’t his enemy.

 

Stepping cautiously forward, he was reminded of what Morgause had shown him, how Morgana’s nightmares had been the first step to this. If only she’d got help. If only she’d felt able to.

 

He had to put this right, he thought with a quiet, aching sigh. They both had to learn to be better than their father.

 

He carefully placed his sword on the ground, reaching into the pouch at his belt for the necklace Morgause had given him. It was a simple gold chain and pendant, a swirling symbol of some kind that he didn’t recognise. He hoped it worked.

 

With silent footsteps he moved toward her bed, keeping his breathing shallow. Even the mildest clink of his light armour felt too loud as he very slowly knelt down. The necklace chain was long and so at least he should be able to easily get it over her head.

 

Her eyes opened.

 

She didn’t react for a moment and he froze entirely, breath caught. He should have just forced the necklace on her but the sudden look of shock and then momentary fear that came onto her face threw him and he hesitated too long. He didn’t want her to be afraid of him.

 

She didn’t use magic - perhaps too stunned, perhaps more concerned with just getting him away - instead shoving him back forcibly. He was far stronger, but caught off guard and his balance went, making him fall onto his backside as she scrambled wildly to sit up.

 

“Coward!” she screamed at him in panic, far too loudly. “We’re you trying to kill me in my sleep? Is that what you’ve become?”

 

“Calm down, Morgana, please! I wasn’t trying to kill you.” His protests were a hard whisper, the necklace still clutched tight in his hand. “I was sent here to bring you back.”

 

“Back to what? To face execution for my terrible crimes?” she bitterly accused as she scrambled to sit up properly, clutching her thin covers to her. Apparently she didn’t really hear his words since she didn’t question who’d sent him.

 

Arthur forced himself to remain calm. His instinct was to grab his sword and prepare to defend himself if necessary, but he quashed that, knowing it would cause her to instantly fight back. He had to reason with her or at least get close enough to get the necklace on her. He cautiously rose from the floor, going slow, trying to ensure he didn’t look threatening to the woman still staring at him with wild eyed suspicion.

 

“I was sent, Morgana,” he said slowly. “To bring you back to your sister.”

 

“Morgause is dead,” she bit back, the words sounding as raw as the emotions she clearly felt.

 

“She came back,” Arthur said, quite gently. “For you. She wants to help you. She wants me to take you to her.”

 

For the briefest moment, hope flickered across Morgana’s face and her expression seemed to soften, the twist of venom and hate leaving it. She wanted to believe.

 

But she couldn’t.

 

“Lies!” she spat suddenly and pushed forward her hand.

 

Arthur felt the invisible blow, falling back to the ground with a hard thud. By time he’d recovered, Morgana was standing over him. She looked angry, her disgust barely contained as she spoke.

 

“You came here to kill me and you dare use her name with such lies? You will regret that.”

 

Arthur glanced sideways, checking where his sword lay. With just a slight shift, he could grab it.

 

Morgana noticed that too.

 

“Yes,” she nodded, chest heaving with deep breaths of wild emotion, a cruel smile on her lips. “Take it up. Shall we end this here, Arthur? See if I can beat you like I used to?”

 

She had been a good swords-woman, but her words were tormenting. They both knew very well that, with her magic, she more than had the upper hand.

 

Arthur looked up at her steadily, not moving, willing his mind to think of another option that didn’t lead to one of them dead.

 

“Just because you won’t strike, Arthur, don’t think I’ll show you mercy,” she snapped impatiently.

 

She was still waiting for him to make the first move though. It was flimsy encouragement, but he’d take it.

 

“Do you really hate me so much?” he pressed quietly. “I came here because I still care, Morgana. I want this to end well.”

 

She did pause, as she had done in the throne room, and he could see the conflict in her eyes, the hidden sadness there. But that didn’t stop her raising her hand.

 

“It can’t,” she said, and there was definite regret in her voice.

 

Arthur prepared to move, to at least roll out the way of her attack, but he didn’t get a chance to before she suddenly yelped and jerked back as though her feet were dragged out from under her. She fell forward, face first, so surprised that she didn’t put her hands out quick enough to stop herself.

 

Arthur reacted swiftly - had she tripped on those vines on the floor? - scrambling over to her and rolling her onto her back. It was messy and frankly ignoble as the pair of them wrestled on the floor, him using his superior weight to hold her down. Blood was pouring from her nose where she’d hit it, but he took no heed of that, finally dragging her into a sitting position and forcing the necklace down over her head. Even so, she still fought, moving to yank it off again, and his arms locked around her, holding her back against his chest as she struggled.

 

Fortunately, the magic began to work almost immediately, taking the strength out of her. As it did, she looked scared. No, terrified.

 

“It’s all right,” he tried to soothe, still filled with adrenaline but hating the expression on her face. “It’s all right, Morgana, I swear.”

 

A shadow fell over them and Arthur looked up briefly to see Merlin standing in the tent opening. He’d expected it; Merlin was very good at disobeying any and every order.

 

Arthur’s attention was drawn by the woman struggling in his arms though and so he didn’t notice the very small swipe of Merlin’s hand dismissing the vines.

 

“It’s all right,” Arthur said to Morgana again. She’d looked so imposing before and now, with a frightened expression and blood trailing down her face…

 

Even with her feeble last movements, she tried to get free, gasping as though her breath was being stolen.

 

“You’re just like him,” she choked out, eyes red rimmed. “You’re just like him.”

 

As she finally slipped into unconsciousness, the magic having done its work, Arthur stroked her hair as he tried to calm his own words and regain his breath. He silently promised her that he would prove he wasn’t like Uther. Not in that way.

 

Standing over them, watching them with an unreadable expression, Merlin knew that it wasn’t Uther who she’d been talking about.


	9. Chapter 9

Under full moonlight, the white walls of Camelot looked silver-blue, giving the city an ethereal brightness even in the dead of night. It made sneaking into it difficult, the chance of being spotted high. But only if the patrols were well placed and, as Noren and his band of men discovered, that wasn’t the case.

 

This, he thought with a grin, was what happened when you left a woman in charge.

 

They moved quickly through the lower town, taking their time to notice the gaps in the patrols and then sneaking past them at the opportune moment. A few times they were almost caught, but he wasn’t the leader of Lot’s most elite group of bandits for nothing; he’d almost a sixth sense for trouble and always stopped them just short of being spotted. The men were handpicked and trained by himself, utterly loyal and completely trusting, and hence they followed his every command immediately. They worked as one and it was what made them the best. It was why Lot had given them this mission.

 

Had he been less full of boastful pride, Noren might have stopped to wonder why getting into even the castle itself was far simpler than it should have been. But, instead, he put it down to his own skill and the fact that Camelot’s queen wasn’t an experienced solider. She probably had half the men off at dancing lessons or something equally ridiculous.

 

The Queen’s bedroom was to be found at the top of the grand staircase through an arch that led into the most private area of the castle. He’d learnt that from a kitchen boy he’d paid for the information. Two guards stood at the entrance but as they passed out sight around a corner he simply nodded at two of his men; they knew what to do and now was the time.

 

One clambered, like a woodland creature, up the wall at the side, reaching and then clinging on the balcony edge above, shuffling around the corner. The rest of them hid, melting into various alcoves, as the second man opened the bag he’d been carrying, taking the restraint off the beak of the large crow before letting it loose. It did its job well, squawking loudly, the flap of its wings knocking over an ornate goblet that clattered down the stairs.

 

Immediately, as Noren had hoped, one of the two guards hurried around the corner to search for the source of the noise, going to investigate the glimpse of movement he saw down the stairs. Just in case.

 

Swiftly, and without need to be told, the man clinging to the balcony loosed one of the shields that hung on the wall, kicking it sharply. It fell like a rock, hitting the guard below and knocking him clean out. Good. The other guard would return soon, having realised that he really was only chasing an errant crow, not an intruder. He’d find his colleague unconscious, apparently from an accident, and would have no reason to raise a general alarm. Noren wanted to keep it that way until they were far from their castle with their quarry.

 

He and his men moved quickly up the stairs - they wore only light, leather armour so they made no sound as they went - and down the corridor to the Queen’s bedroom door. He was surprised to see no other guards up here. Clearly a matter of over confidence.

 

Arranging his men in an attacking pattern with just a few glances and hand signals, he opened the door and charged swiftly inside.

 

The only person awaiting him was a single maid.

 

She dropped the laundry she was folding and opened her mouth to scream but he took swift paces towards her, hand clamping over her lips to silence her.

 

“Where’s the queen?” he asked gruffly, knowing he’d have to remove his hand to let her answer. “Scream and I’ll cut your throat, understand?”

 

The girl nodded, eyes as wide as gold pieces, whole body trembling next to him. Good. Fear would make her compliant.

 

He let her go.

 

“Don’t hurt me!” she begged. “I’m just a maid, I don’t-”

 

“Where’s the queen?” he repeated again, harshly, a clear indication of his thin patience.

 

“In the throne room,” she stammered back. “She had a late meeting with a visitor and wanted to remain behind and read some treaties. She prefers the air in there.”

 

Noren looked around the room. The throne room would not be easy to get to but if he knew castles as well as he thought…

 

“I take you know a private way there.”

 

All castles such as these had hidden passages for the servants to move around unseen. Like somehow the lords and ladies would be offended if they saw people going about their work.

 

The girl nodded.

 

“Back there.”

 

“Show us.”

 

He drew a dagger, nudging her into action as his men fell into line behind him. Further back in the rooms - in what he assumed was a dressing chamber - a heavy crimson curtain hung against the wall, bearing the Pendragon crest. The maid drew it back to reveal an oak door and, behind that, a dark passage that led swiftly down some rough spiral stairs.

 

“Well go on,” he insisted, shoving a candle holder into her hand to light her way - no point in them tumbling down it like fools and no one would see the light to give them away.

 

The girl shook her head but he shoved her forward anyway, giving her no choice.

 

The way down was surprisingly long and the passage at the bottom twisting and endless. He was about to ask her what game she was playing and to roughly demand she stopped it, when she finally halted beside a door that was so worn it almost looked like it was part of wall itself.

 

“Here,” she said shakily, face looking gaunt in the candlelight. “We’re opposite the throne room entrance.”

 

“You first then,” Noren insisted with a smile. If there were guards out there he could use her as a shield.

 

There was no one though, just a dark empty corridor of large, ornate statues and impressive banners. The power of Camelot displayed? Seemed like a joke right now to him.

 

“Bring her,” he said to one his men, shoving the maid in his direction. Noren didn’t want her running off and warning anyone. Besides, having her along to threaten may make the queen more compliant.

 

Boldly, ready to claim his prize, he pushed open the great doors.

 

Queen Guinevere was not taken by surprise as he’d hoped. She was sitting up straight and tall on the throne as though awaiting his arrival, bathed in moonlight, her crown on her head and a quite regal expression on her face. Even Noren paused and he’d seen a lot of royalty in his time.

 

“Greetings,” she said with cold formality. “We were expecting you.”

 

From the shadows at the two sides of the room, a dozen knights appeared.

 

Released by her captor as he readied to defend himself, the maid ran, just as Gwen had instructed her to do so.

 

Noren’s men were good and he’d always secretly wanted to test them against the famed knights of Camelot, but not like this. Not outnumbered and taken by surprise. Something he held a begrudging respect for; even as the battle began and he fought for his life he took time to realise that he’d been outwitted.

 

She’d known they were coming.

 

The fight was swift and bloody, most of the blood coming from his men who fought like proud, wild beasts but could only hold on against this force for so long. As their comrades fell, the discipline of the remaining men deserted them and they retreated despite his order to keep attacking. Some might have called them cowards but he couldn’t really blame them; this was no glorious end for such men. He might’ve tried to run himself only he knew very well that he wouldn’t get far.

 

Nor did those who fled. Three made it to the door, only to be faced with a blonde woman with a fierce look in her eyes. They charged at her but she knocked them all back with a simple raise of her hand before she drew the sword at her side.

 

Magic? Camelot didn’t allow magic…

 

The distraction of surprise was enough to make him careless and he was disarmed by a powerful blow from a tall, bearded man. Two others grabbed his arms, pulling them behind him and forcing him down to his knees.

 

The sounds of battle petered out. His elite force that he’d spent so many years training was no more.

 

The queen rose serenely from her throne, walking down to where he was held. Her expression was one of cold disgust.

 

Noren looked straight up at her, refusing to be cowed, an act of defiance that would likely be his last.

 

“You knew,” he said steadily. He might have been impressed if he wasn’t so angry.

 

“I had my spies watching the land,” she said stonily. “I had them feed you the information you were searching for. We knew you were coming and when.”

 

The boy, Noren realised, the one who’d told him where her bedchamber was…It’d all been planned.

 

And then she surprised him again.

 

“Let him go,” she commanded, the knights only hesitating a moment before obeying.

 

One man, with skin the same colour as hers, dragged Noren to his feet and checked him over, removing all his hidden weapons.

 

“You’ll be escorted to the gate and thrown loose,” she said. “If you survive to make it back to Lot, tell him that Camelot’s Queen is not defenceless.”

 

As Noren was dragged away he almost grinned, thinking she was a fool to let him go free and give him opportunity to one day try again, but it faded when he saw his fallen men and came to a realisation. So many years of hand picking and training the right ones. It would be a very long time before he had the means to take the revenge he desired.

 

Gwen watched Leon and Elyan remove him with a cold satisfaction before returning to the remaining knights.

 

“Clear this up in here,” she commanded. “And make sure these men are buried. Outside the city walls.”

 

She was no barbarian.

 

As she headed towards the door - she wanted to go and check on her maid, to praise the girl for playing her part so well - she paused next to Morgause.

 

“Thank you,” she said solemnly. “For your assistance.”

 

Gaius hadn’t liked the idea of asking her, but Gwen had a feeling she could be trusted; there would be no advantage at all in Morgause betraying them now, not when Arthur was risking himself to bring Morgana back. Gwen had wanted to show both Morgause that they could work together. Maybe it would push him towards the law changes she wanted.

 

Morgause nodded at her in acceptance. “Your plan was bold and the Old Ways respect a woman of spirit. They’re rarer than they once were.”

 

“There are many women of spirit,” Gwen reasoned, defending her sex. “But this is a man’s world and not all women get to use it.”

 

“Mine is not a man’s world,” Morgause reminded her before looking curiously at Gwen. “Perhaps you should remember that. We would support the ambitions of a strong queen.”

 

She left, and Gwen watched her go, feeling both empowered by her subtle offer and worried about what it truly meant.

 

**********************

 

Arthur lifted Morgana’s unconscious form easily and half slung her over his shoulder before turning to Merlin.

 

“Someone might have heard all that noise,” he whispered harshly. “We have to go.”

 

He turned with the expectation of being obeyed, heading out of the tent before Merlin could make even a word of protest. Instead, Merlin huffed, hurrying after king.

 

And promptly stopped again just short of walking into Arthur’s stationary back.

 

He was about to ask what on earth he was waiting for when another voice spoke instead.

 

“Why are you taking her?”

 

Merlin’s blood seemed to stop flowing entirely, that voice scraping at his subconscious. Despite his body feeling like it’d frozen, he forced himself to step around Arthur to see Mordred standing there, the young man considering them with a calm curiosity. His eyes flicked to Merlin a moment but his expression didn’t change.

 

Arthur, for his part, looked surprised, obviously recognising him but not seeing the threat. Did he work out that this was the great sorcerer Morgause had spoken of? Maybe. Or maybe he just thought the druid boy had found his way to other magic users and this was an unfortunate coincidence. Either way, when he spoke, his voice was steady.

 

“We’re taking her home, stand aside.”

 

Although, what he intended to do about it if Mordred didn’t - Morgana being slung over his shoulder quite the hindrance to fighting - wasn’t clear.

 

“She’s mine, you’re not taking her.”

 

If Arthur wasn’t so sharp on his feet he would’ve ended up with a nasty set of burns. The fireball appeared in Mordred’s hand from nowhere - he didn’t even say a spell - summoned with a swiftness that impressed Merlin for a moment. Mordred threw it between them both, making it difficult to tell who he was aiming for, as they dived aside to avoid it. Behind them, the tent went up in a whoosh of flame.

 

Arthur remained on his feet, mindful of the woman he was carrying, but Merlin landed on the floor in a clumsy manner. Quickly dragging himself up, he saw Mordred’s gaze fixed upon him for a very long moment, studying him. Challenging him? Then he slowly turned to Arthur.

 

Merlin balled his fists at his side, feeling the power inside him readying. He wouldn’t let that prophecy unravel before him even if it meant revealing his secret here and now.

 

A sudden screech from above interrupted them and something dropped from the sky like a stone, leathery wings flapping frantically. It swooped right at Mordred, distracting him, shielding Arthur from whatever attack Morded might have been contemplating. Merlin was so shocked, he couldn’t help but say the name aloud, incredulously.

 

“Aithusa?”

 

Fortunately, the screeching meant that he wasn’t heard.

 

Arthur reacted with less shock, grabbing Merlin by the shoulder and dragging him into movement.

 

“Come on!”

 

They ran, Arthur faster than him despite carrying Morgana, whilst Merlin couldn’t help glancing back to Mordred, barely visible behind the wild flapping of large white wings.

 

**********************

 

Arthur wasn’t entirely sure where on a dragon had appeared from nor why it was apparently helping them, but he wasn’t going to waste such an opportunity. They headed directly out of the camp, leaving the noise and confusion behind them. The deep snow made moving quickly difficult, but it would be the same for anyone following them and they at least had a head start.

 

“That was the boy,” Arthur said, slightly breathless himself as they ran. “The druid boy.”

 

“Mordred,” Merlin confirmed, looking grave.

 

“What was he doing?” Arthur asked with an irritated frown. He’d saved him, for goodness sake. Why was the boy trying to hinder him now?

 

“He was always fond of Morgana,” Merlin reasoned quietly. “Maybe he thought you were going to hurt her.”

 

“Do you think he’s the sorcerer Morgause was talking about?” Arthur asked, not sure whether that was a ridiculous question or not. Mordred was barely out of adolescence and yet he’d certainly seemed confident enough with magic.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

Merlin remained quiet.

 

Almost miraculously they made it back to the mountain path without any sign of being followed. Gwaine and Percival were waiting with the horses below. Arthur commanded that they rode hard, directly towards Camelot’s border, putting as much distance between them and the druid boy as possible. Just in case.

 

**********************

 

Mordred covered yet another one of the scratches with his palm, waiting a moment before pulling it away, no trace of the wound remaining. He still had a dozen to go. The dragon had been surprisingly vicious. He wondered briefly where she’d come from; his father had told him all the dragons were dead.

 

Alvarr ran up to him, breathing heavily looking a mixture of angry and apologetic.

 

“They’ve gone too far,” he reported. “We won’t catch them on foot. We’ll saddle some horses and ride them down.”

 

“Don’t,” Mordred insisted, command in his quiet voice stopping the other man before he moved off again.

 

Alvarr looked outraged.

 

“We can’t just let them take her!”

 

Mordred regarded him with a curious expression, tilting his head, silently asking Alvarr why he was questioning him. It made Alvarr back down immediately.

 

“It’s not a problem,” Mordred insisted in a tone that was almost soothing. “All is in hand.”


	10. Chapter 10

Merlin was relieved when Arthur finally declared they should stop and make camp for the night. They’d ridden at full pace - Arthur managing to keep Morgana safely in front of him despite her unconscious state - all the way back to Camelot’s border, ensuring they were well on the other side of it before they slowed. Merlin had half expected Arthur to keep going right to the castle itself, but the horses were exhausted and it was dangerously late - one could easily miss its step and stumble in the darkness, throwing its rider. Merlin, although he’d said nothing, welcomed the respite too. He needed some time to think.

 

At Arthur’s beckoning, Percival lifted Morgana from the horse, allowing the King to safely dismount before ordering them to start a fire and instructing Percival to set her on the ground. They’d eat, take turns to sleep, and then start riding again at dawn. He wanted to be home as soon as possible.

 

He’d said nothing more about Mordred.

 

“Make sure that necklace is still on her properly,” he instructed Gwaine as the knight bent down to clean off the blood around her nose at Arthur’s insistence. “I don’t want her waking.”

 

“No arguments there,” Gwaine agreed with a dry smile. “I’ve never seen a woman so angry as this one - and I’ve made a lot of women angry.”

 

A shortly, mostly silent while later, Merlin was absently making stew when he heard the sound of wings and a croaking, reptilian call. Percival had retraced their route a little, checking to see if they’d been followed, but Arthur and Gwaine quickly rose, drawing their swords and turning towards the noise. The clear threat didn’t stop Aithusa though and upon landing the dragon walked slowly, surprisingly delicately towards where Morgana lay. Gwaine raised his sword higher and the dragon hissed at him in warning.

 

Arthur watched the creature warily, an intently thoughtful expression on his face, before he appeared to come to a decision and reached out to push Gwaine’s sword down whilst lowering his own.

 

“It helped us back at the camp,” he explained quietly. “I think it was protecting her.”

 

He sounded unsettled by the idea. And as well he might be, Merlin supposed - the last dragon he’d seen was trying to burn his kingdom to the ground. But he gave the dragon a measure of trust all the same. Whatever its motives, he obviously decided it wouldn’t attack as long as they did nothing to harm Morgana.

 

Gwaine lowered his sword, trusting Arthur, although the look on his face was one of extreme caution. Merlin doubted any of them would be getting much sleep whilst the dragon remained around.

 

Part of Merlin had hoped that, in fact, Aithusa had come to his aid. That would make things far simpler. But, as he dished up the stew into rough bowls and watched the dragon out of the corner of his eye, he saw it bending down and cooing at Morgana. It nuzzled her gently and then breathed over her still lightly bleeding nose which they’d only managed to cover rather than stop. Using magic, Merlin supposed, to heal it.

 

Arthur was watching too and shifted uncomfortably.

 

“Where did it come from?” he asked quietly as Merlin brought a bowl over to him. Speaking as though any loud noise might prompt the dragon into attacking.

 

“I don’t know,” Merlin said, sounding more troubled than he’d wanted to convey.

 

“Is it…hers?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“You don’t know very much, do you?” Arthur huffed in frustration.

 

Merlin looked across, watching as Aithusa curled up next to Morgana, laying its tail protectively - possessively? - across her. He didn’t understand it at all; Aithusa was supposed to be a sign of hope for Albion…

 

“No, apparently not.”

 

Arthur looked down at his bowl and then across at the creature.

 

“I suppose it did help us back there…”

 

He hooked out a piece of meat, tossing it across. Aithusa snapped it out of mid air, making a sound that might almost have been a purr. Arthur smiled dryly.

 

“Well, Merlin, at least someone likes your cooking.”

 

**********************

 

Morgause and Gaius were waiting for them in the courtyard when they arrived. How they’d known they’d be returning that morning was a mystery - Arthur hadn’t sent word ahead - but Merlin suspected Morgause had sensed it somehow. Or she’d been using magic to watch their progress.

 

She hurried up to Arthur’s horse as he trotted in, instantly going to Morgana and easing her down, looking upset and angry at the traces of blood and bruising around her nose.

 

“What did you do to her?” she demanded, taking the unconscious woman in her arms. She was stronger than she looked.

 

“We had a struggle when I tried to get the necklace on her,” Arthur said, not seeming offended by her suspicion. He’d probably expected it. “She tripped.”

 

Morgause glared a moment but her attention was more drawn by Morgana, fingers stroking back strands of her dark hair. Even Merlin was the slightest bit affected by how much Morgause obviously loved her and he knew the feeling had been mutual. He’d been angry and defiant when Morgana had captured him but he hadn’t been totally blind to her reaction when he’d brought up her sister. Morgause’s death must have been hard on Morgana and it probably had pushed her to more desperate measures.

 

“Here,” Arthur insisted as he dismounted, “let me take her.”

 

Morgause looked defensive, holding Morgana closely still.

 

“Please,” Arthur added quietly.

 

Morgause looked at him for a long moment, studying him, before she nodded. She was likely pleased that Arthur was offering such care. It boded well and, on her part, this was a gesture of…a potential accord between them, if not trust.

 

As Arthur carried her inside, Morgause walking next to him, Merlin fell into step next to Gaius.

 

“I take it things didn’t go entirely smoothly?” the old physician asked, looking at Merlin.

 

Was it the look on his face that had given that away?

 

“Did you see Mordred?” Gaius pressed.

 

Merlin nodded.

 

“And?”

 

“He’s very powerful,” Merlin said quietly.

 

Gaius nodded; that was not good news and they’d talk about that in more depth later. When Merlin was ready.

 

“But at least you got her out of there with the minimum of fuss, yes?”

 

“With a little help,” Merlin replied, a sigh leaving his lips. He hadn’t need this extra complication.

 

Gaius frowned at him, asking for more explanation which Merlin gave with a second sigh.

 

“Aithusa.”

 

“The infant dragon you rescued?” Gaius’s voice was little more than a whisper but his frown deepened in confusion.

 

Merlin nodded. “She helped us get away from the camp and then came to visit Morgana when we stopped for the night.”

 

“She?”

 

“I think so. I’m not sure how I know that but…”

 

He was a Dragon Lord after all, he supposed.

 

Gaius brushed that aside, deciding it wasn’t the most important thing. “And she was protecting Morgana, you say?”

 

“I think so. She seemed very attached to her. She stayed with her all night - like she didn’t trust us or something - but she left in the morning. I don’t know where.”

 

“Did you try talking to her?”

 

“I did once. She ignored me.”

 

“You’re a Dragon Lord, that isn’t possible.”

 

“I know.”

 

They arrived at Gaius’s workroom, Morgause opening the door and Arthur carrying Morgana in, setting her down on the cot in the middle. It reminded Merlin very starkly of the time he’d nearly killed her on the stairs. Not for the first time, he wondered if he’d been mistaken in saving her back then.

 

“The necklace has to stay on her until you’re sure it’s safe to remove it,” Arthur said, clearly meaning ‘until you’re sure she’s not going to attack us all’.

 

Morgause scowled at him. “She cannot take water whilst asleep; I will have to wake her soon. But once the link is broken, she will listen to me.”

 

“And then she’s stays under guard,” Arthur insisted as though he hadn’t really heard her words.

 

“Is she your guest or your prisoner? A fine way to rebuild an alliance…”

 

Arthur looked at Morgause steadily, not backing down.

 

“I risked my life to bring her back here. I think that’s a good enough show of trust, don’t you?”

 

Morgause smiled a little. She seemed more impressed with this Arthur.

 

“I’ll perform the spell and check her for any further injury, then we can return to the chambers you offered me,” she compromised. “Place your guards outside if you wish. I suspect she’ll be left too weak to cause you trouble and I will explain things to her once she’s rested. Agreed?”

 

Arthur considered it for only a moment before nodding.

 

It felt odd to Merlin to watch as the spell was performed and not get involved. It wasn’t anything he’d heard of before, but he understood a lot of what she was doing - the herbs and essences she mixed together seemed to do with the mind and cleansing, and the words spoke of freeing her - and he took it in almost like a pupil. Although making sure not to look too engrossed in case it aroused Arthur’s suspicion. Not that that was likely when Arthur was so focused on what Morgause was doing, a troubled frown on his face. He may be letting her use magic but he clearly wasn’t comfortable with it or happy about it.

 

A sharp wind blew through the room as she finished, tossing papers about and knocking over the lightest bottles of healing mixtures. Some of them rolled off the surfaces and smashed. Gaius looked faintly annoyed.

 

“Is that it?” Arthur pressed when Morgause said nothing more, instead leaning over Morgana checking her carefully. “Did it work?”

 

“We’ll know when she wakes,” Morgause replied simply, reaching for the necklace clasp.

 

Arthur opened his mouth to protest but quickly closed it again, apparently not seeing an alternative. Morgause took that as approval and slid the gold chain away.

 

It took only moments for Morgana’s eyes to heavily open. She looked dazed and unsure, as though she was finding it hard to focus - the blow to the head or after effects of the necklace? - and Morgause leaned right over her, clasping her hand to make sure she was the first thing that Morgana saw.

 

Morgana looked at her for a long moment before her dry lips moved to speak.

 

“I’m dead,” she said hollowly. “He killed me…”

 

It was hard to tell how she felt about that. She seemed numb, a distant look in her eyes.

 

“No, my sweet,” Morgause cooed, her voice softer and gentler than Merlin had ever heard it. “He brought you back to me. You’re alive and safe. With me.”

 

Morgana looked confused, fingers twitching in Morgause’s hand like she was trying to grip it but didn’t have the strength.

 

“You died,” she whispered, shaking her head very slowly in denial. It clearly didn’t make sense to her.

 

Morgause smiled. “Do you think I’d allow such a thing to keep me from you?”

 

The reunion might have been more touching if Merlin didn’t bear them both such ill-will for all they’d done.

 

Morgana’s gaze wandered, as she seemed to be slowly piecing together what had happened to her . She simply looked confused until it finally settled on him and Gaius, and her response was instantaeous as she realised where she was. She reacted with sharp, sudden fear. Kicking back, trying to sit up and scramble away, the violence of her reaction even startling Morgause who jumped back.

 

“No!” she gasped out wildly. “Not here! Not him!”

 

Merlin blanched. She knew, he suddenly and frighteningly recalled. She knew who he was. She only had to say something to cast suspicion on him and… Gods, he’d been the one to help bring her here and she was going to tear his life down, surely? Why wouldn’t she, after all that had happened between them?

 

Morgause recovered her wits quickly, moving close and wrapping her arms around Morgana. She held her tight, drawing her to her chest to stop her thrashing. And to shield her from seeing them.

 

“It’s all right,” she whispered. “I will let no one harm you, I swear. Be calm. Calm now. You know I will protect you. ”

 

As Morgana’s struggles eased, Morgause looked up at Arthur.

 

“I need to take her to the guest rooms,” she insisted, Arthur appearing shocked by her reaction. “She needs peace and calm unless you want to see what a frightened sorceress can do.”

 

“Of course,” he nodded quickly, not liking to see her in such a state, let alone to contemplate what damage she could do. “The guards will show you.”

 

Apparently he’d decided it was best that he keep out of her way too.

 

Morgause helped Morgana slowly to her feet, cradling her close still, supporting her unsteady steps.

 

“I’m glad you’re back, Morgana,” Arthur said quietly, wanting her to hear his voice. To hear the sentiment and remember it. “I hope we can talk soon.”

 

Morgause nodded in what Merlin assumed was agreement and led her slowly away.

 

And Merlin watched her go, not seeing a dangerous sorceress intent upon killing Arthur. Not even seeing a frightened, confused woman. Just a human hourglass, counting down to when it would undoubtedly decide to reveal his secret to everyone. And there was nothing he could do about it.

 

**********************

 

Morgana felt and thought absolutely nothing as they made their way to the room, walking through corridors that’d once been so familiar to her and now felt so strange. Even when they were curled up together on the bed, she simply hid in Morgause’s embrace, remaining silent. Her nerves were shattered and her mind whirled in confusion.

 

She was in Camelot, with Morgause, with Arthur saying was glad to see her. Her head was pounding viciously and she felt so physically weak she could barely stand unaided. Nothing made sense.

 

Certainly not in her heart where her emotions were more conflicted than ever; part of her wanted to scream that everyone here was a traitor - that even Morgause had given up - and part, secretly, foolishly, wished that this could be true. That the world wasn’t as hopeless as she’d believed it to be.

 

Surely Morgause wouldn’t be here if Arthur hadn’t promised her a truce and that the people of magic would be safe? But how had she persuaded him to it? And how could he be trusted? Even if it were true, would that really make up for everything that had gone before? Could they leave him unpunished without feeling like justice hadn’t been served?

 

Far too many questions for an already fragile mind.

 

“Why am I here?” she asked eventually, voice weak and tinged with confused despair. She didn’t like this feeling at all. She’d spent too long helpless in her past and it wasn’t something she was keen to return to.

 

Morgause held her tighter, stroking her hair.

 

“I had to rescue you from the boy, at all costs,” she explained quietly. “I couldn’t do that alone and I’d seen that Arthur still cared for you. I knew he’d bring you back to me.”

 

“Rescue me?” Morgana asked, frowning more deeply. She hadn’t needed rescuing - Mordred had helped her. He’d given her family and purpose again. He was one of them.

 

Morgause lifted Morgana’s head from her shoulder lightly, caressing her cheek, but looking troubled.

 

“I didn’t see it before, the claws he had in your mind. If I’d know it, I would have freed you long ago.”

 

Morgana shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

 

“Mordred,” Morgause said, drawing Morgana’s head to her shoulder again, wrapping her arms around her protectively. “He got into your mind when you first met him as a boy. A Seer’s mind is open to magic - it’s what lets her have her visions - but that can be abused if she isn’t properly protected. The bracelet keeps you safe now, but back then…” Morgause sighed. “I am sorry, my love. I should have known. I should have protected you.”

 

Morgana was quiet for a long moment, considering that. It was truly unsettling to have everything she’d trusted so torn down. Everything she’d know for the last year was suddenly turned about and she wasn’t sure what to think. Morgause was saying that Mordred had used her but…he’d been so good to her.

 

“He wasn’t controlling me,” she said eventually. It made her feel better somehow. Less weak.

 

“No,” Morgause agreed, “but he wasn’t letting you think freely. It is forbidden by our laws to abuse a Seer’s powers in such a way.”

 

She was angry and Morgana liked that, finding safety in it, curling closer.

 

“How are you here?” she whispered, wanting to talk about more pleasant things. It was still a shock, she still couldn’t quite express what she felt and was sure there’d be tears later. For now though answers would suffice.

 

Morgause dropped a kiss into her hair. “I’ve been working my way back to you all along, my love. Finding my way as I healed.”

 

Morgana glanced up; the scars were indeed all but gone, faint silvery lines all that were left of what had once marred Morgause’s beautiful face.

 

“But Arthur didn’t help you return…” she reasoned. She feared the answer. She didn’t want it to be him. She didn’t want to owe him anything.

 

“It was Merlin,” Morgause confirmed, no shame in it. “I considered he owed us a great debt after his lies and trickery.”

 

Clearly, Morgause knew who he was too.

 

“How could you trust him?” Morgana asked, shaking her head in disbelief. It almost felt like a betrayal of her.

 

“Because I was desperate,” Morgause replied simply, “and could wait no longer.” She sat back a little, looking at Morgana steadily as though about to say something extremely important. “I have seen the truth, Morgana; the Isle of the Blessed is dying. The Old Ways are fading from the world and there are no more High Priestesses being born. We are the last and I couldn’t let that boy risk your life and the future of our people for his plans.” She held Morgana’s hands tightly, with fevered strength. “We must heal the Isle, tend to its wounds, or our world will be gone forever. Camelot means nothing in comparison.”

 

Morgana frowned once more, considering that, having even more to take in. In truth though, she’d felt it too.

 

“I visited an old woman,” she said after a pause, her tone thoughtful. “The Dochraid. She said I was destined to restore the Old Religion.”

 

Morgause’s gaze seemed to light up. “Then it is true.” She gripped Morgana’s hands ever tighter. “Come back with me, Morgana. Discard your lineage as Uther’s daughter and do what he would have hated most; return to the lands of the Goddess and help us become strong once again.”

 

Morgana felt very confused, everything turned on its head. But she nodded silently. Automatically. “Yes. It’s what’s right. I know you’re right. But I’ll need a few days to recover before I can travel.”


	11. Chapter 11

Arthur could feel the tension in the corridors of Camelot and he knew very well what it was for; the people had long forgotten the kind Morgana who would stand up for them and distribute food when times where hard, now they only recalled the invader, ruling by force, and her presence was making everyone nervous. He’d wanted to keep it quiet, give them both time and space to resolve what was between them without general gossip. But as soon as he’d arrived in the courtyard, carrying a woman with long, dark hair, wearing a dress as black as night, people knew who it was and the whispering had started.

 

Two days had passed since she’d been freed from Mordred’s hold by Morgause, and he hadn’t yet been to see her. He’d gave the excuse of good manners - saying he was giving her time to recover - but he knew it was his own conflict that kept him away. Yes, he wanted to reconcile with her, but the more he thought about her being back here, the more he realised he was still angry too. With her safe, and some of his responsibility resolved, he could remember more clearly how he totally disagreed with all she’d done and the way she’d gone about it - how he felt insulted that she hadn’t known him better all along - and he couldn’t risk those feelings coming out in front of her. He knew Morgana, knew she’d try to bait and test him, and he had to be ready for it. He didn’t feel ready yet.

 

Gwen shared his conflicted feelings and that was likely how she knew where to find him, in the private little garden of a central courtyard that only the king and his family were permitted to use. Arthur smiled at her as she approached, holding out his hand for hers. She’d told him all about Lot’s attack - about his plan to take her and use her to ransom - and it made him all the more keen to have her at his side, despite how well she’d clearly dealt with it. He had half a mind to deal more conclusively with that himself once this business with Morgana was sorted.

 

“Your head’s still no clearer?” she asked softly, sitting next to him on the marble bench, obviously seeing something in his manner. She read him so well.

 

Her smiled wryly. “At the moment, I mostly want to tell her what her betrayal meant to me. I doubt that’s going to help matters.”

 

“No,” Gwen said with a soft smile of her own. “But it’s very reasonable to feel it. Everyone who cared about her does. We want to give her a chance but it’ll take time.”

 

Arthur nodded in agreement before giving a dry huff. “Everyone except Merlin wants to give her a chance.”

 

“Oh?”

 

Arthur let out a deeper sigh. “Every time I’ve seen him he’s been laying heavy handed hints about not trusting her. And apparently he’s been hanging around outside their room, following them to Gaius’s chambers and back when they go. I think he believes he’s spying on them but he’s doing a terrible job of it. I don’t know why he feels the need; they don’t go anywhere without guards.”

 

“He’s just trying to keep you safe, I’m sure.”

 

“Oh yes, I feel much safer now.”

 

Gwen laughed a little at his dry expression, kissing his cheek. “Stop it. He’s always been good to you.”

 

“I know,” Arthur relented, squeezing her hand again. “And I understand his point. But that won’t get us anywhere. Nowhere good anyway. Moving forward from this is going to be hard enough as it is.”

 

“Perhaps,” she said tentatively, after a pause, “things would be smoother if you were to look at repealing those laws on magic. It would show Morgana how much you’re willing to give to make this work and make her see how unnecessary her actions were.”

 

Arthur looked at her, a little surprised. He could swear sometimes that Gwen had learnt a thing or two about devious manipulation from Morgana.

 

“Not now,” he pleaded with a sigh. “I’m sure my father is looking down with disappointment as it is, without undoing everything he ever did. I told you, I don’t want to rush into such things until I’m sure it’s right.”

 

Gwen looked disappointed, but said no more.

 

*********************

 

In another such garden, in a different part of the castle, Morgana sat on the grass. It was Morgause who’d convinced Arthur to let them go outside, saying the closeness to nature would help Morgana recuperate more quickly.  He’d said that, as long as they took guards with them, they were quite welcome to do so.

 

Yet for all his graces, he hadn’t bothered to come and see her. Nor had Gwen. So much for their grand talk of reconciliation. Morgana was beginning to think that she didn’t want to be reconciled with them at all either. Why should she? She steadfastly refused to feel sorry for what’d happened, reminding herself firmly of what they’d done and what they’d stood for any time she thought how it might be nice to be friends with them once more. They couldn’t go back.

 

If Morgause felt her troubled mood, she said nothing, instead brushing through Morgana’s once more glossy hair. She’d spent the better part of the previous day ‘fixing’ it and it seemed to please her to do so and so Morgana allowed her that indulgence. Things were different between them now - not worse, not better, just different. Morgana was no longer the novice pupil waiting on Morgause’s every word and praise. She was stronger now, a fellow High Priestess, her own magic having flourished. Morgause didn’t seem to mind the change of circumstance - she said she was proud -but it was taking a little while to settle into this new form of relationship.

 

Their closeness was helped though by the suspicion she felt from others, pushing them together. It was particularly evident from Merlin. He’d been following her - unsuccessful in his secrecy - every time they’d left their rooms. Frankly, she was surprised he didn’t sneak in and try to hide behind the curtains at night. If he did, she thought with a smirk, she’d make sure he saw something to truly shock him. As it was, every time she sensed his presence she felt like turning and using magic to drag him from his none too subtle hiding places, knowing he wouldn’t be able to retaliate out in the open and taking pleasure from the idea. She only resisted for the sake of not causing an incident that might see them having to stay here longer than necessary. As Morgause continually told her, the Isle was all that mattered now. They make their pleasantries here and move on.

 

Except, Morgana wasn’t sure that she could. She couldn’t rid herself of her hatred of Merlin, no matter how much she tried to focus elsewhere. Arthur and Gwen she could at least feel an indifference towards - even a sense that formal cordiality might be possible with them - but with him…

 

The raging in her heart demanded she punish him for every injustice he’d inflicted upon her and the rest of his kind. Arthur was a misguided fool who’d believed his father’s rhetoric of hate and hadn’t been wise enough to know his own ignorance. Merlin though knew precisely the crimes he committed and had done them willingly.

 

“Everything well, sister?” Morgause asked, the question general but the pointed nature of it clear; she could feel her tension.

 

Morgana looked up at her, smoothing her expression to something calmer. “Fine. I would like a drink. Could you fetch me one?”

 

Morgause hesitated and then nodded, leaning down to kiss her temple before walking back into the castle. One of the guards went with her, the other remaining. They might have been more of an irritation to Morgana if she hadn’t had her attention elsewhere.

 

“Are you going to follow me everywhere, Emrys?” she asked with an irritated sigh, purposefully loud. “Perhaps into my bath chamber next. I’m sure you’d like that, I saw how you used to look at me.”

 

Merlin appeared from his poorly chosen hiding place, his expression dark and serious as he walked over to her. Obviously wanting to be close enough that they weren’t overheard.

 

“That doesn’t really appeal to me,” he said coldly. “I don’t like murderers.”

 

She snorted a laugh. “You must hate yourself then.”

 

She liked how his jaw tightened at that.

 

“No,” she continued airily, fingers running through the long blades of grass, “I don’t suppose you are interested in me when your love lies at the bottom of the great lake.” As she might have predicted, he looked startled at that and a small smirk tugged at her lips. It was nice to have power over him. “The trees talk,” she said in explanation. “They’re creatures of the Goddess too, you know? They call you the traitor.”

 

“What, because I wouldn’t act out bloody revenge against everyone for Uther’s crimes?” he sneered in retort.

 

“Because you turned your back on your own kind,” she said simply, not angry, just matter of fact. “They say the likes of you can never be trusted though. Sorcerers come from the dark place with dark powers and all they want is more.”

 

Her taunting had an almost musical lilt to it, toying with him like a cat with a mouse. It made her feel so much better.

 

“That is not true,” he denied, fiercely. Too fierce for it to be the first time he’d heard such things. He was uncomfortable with the accusation.

 

Her smirked widened.

 

“Really? You play with the whole world around you, trying to mould it into what you want. You lie and you kill - you manipulate - to bring forth your vision for what things should be like, simply because you believe they should be how you want. Crafting a world in your image - is that not the ultimate expression of power?”

 

“It’s about making the best world,” he said sharply, “not the mess you would’ve created.”

 

“I guess you’ll never know, since you tried to kill me rather than help me.” She stood, looking at him steadily. “What will the people know you by then, when this marvellous world of yours is created? Merlin? Emrys? Dragoon?”

 

Telling him she knew all his secret disguises. That she held power over him for once, just like he’d held the power of his secret - the power to help or abandon her - over her once.

 

He flinched a little but kept his reaction mostly in check. “I don’t care if they don’t know me at all. And don’t forget, all they’ll know you as now is a killer and failed conqueror. Twice.”

 

She just laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound.

 

“Go. Go back to your silly hiding places and enjoy following me around.”

 

“I will be watching you closely, Morgana” he warned. “And if you make one move towards Arthur…”

 

“You’ll what?” she challenged, very much not scared of him any more. Not now he was Merlin. It was far easier to face what was in front of you than the unknown. “You’ll stop me, revealing all your powers in front of Camelot? Let’s see how your king reacts then, shall we?”

 

That clearly hit a raw nerve, Merlin’s jaw visibly tightening once more.

 

“I’m interested,” she said, a cruelty to her words, “do you tell yourself that you keep this secret because you pretend that, in secret, you’re more capable of protecting him? Or do you admit the simple truth that he’d have your head if he knew it?”

 

Merlin refused to answer her which was somewhat disappointing. He was no fun if he wouldn’t react and she turned from him, sitting back down again.

 

“I see you didn’t deny you mean him harm,” Merlin said coldly. A taunt of his own?

 

“Why deny it? You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

 

There was a long silence and by the time she looked up again, he was gone.

 

*********************

 

In the end, Arthur decided that the best way of tackling this initial meeting was to not make it personal. They could have a private talk together at another time, when things were less raw, but for now a formal audience would be far better. The situation and the manners it required would, hopefully, prevent things from getting too charged with emotion. Let them officially come to a peace accord first, then they could see if they could work as brother and sister.

 

Which was still something he’d barely been able to get his head around. Nor did he like the way it tainted the memory of his father although he couldn’t deny that it did. Men did foolish things when it came to women, he knew that, but to bed his best friend’s wife? To lie to Morgana all her life never acknowledge her? They weren’t noble actions and Arthur disagreed with them entirely.

 

As they came into the council chamber, Morgause was dressed in red, the same as when he’d once visited her at her castle - he could only presume the dress had got there by magic but he declined to ask. Morgana was still in black and it made her look surprisingly imposing for someone so slight. And it held more than a few bad memories for him.

 

“The point of business,” he said once the pleasantries and introductions were out of the way, voice echoing through the room, “is to establish formal terms of truce between myself and the Lady Morgana.” He used the title, hoping it would placate her. “To create a point from which our two peoples can move forward in an unprecedented level of…mutual cooperation.” Friendship seemed a bit much to ask for at this point. “What are your thoughts on this?”

 

He’d looked at Morgana across the expanse of the rounded table hoping that she might answer, wanting to try to gauge something from her response, but Morgause spoke instead.

 

“My sister requires just a day or two more to recover her strength and then we will be leaving you and returning to the Isle of the Blessed.”

 

Not entirely encouraging as an opening statement but…

 

Arthur nodded. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you need.”

 

Morgana did speak then, her tone level and hard to interpret.

 

“I wish to return to our home as soon as I’m able.”

 

Not particularly promising either, Arthur thought, but at least she wasn’t cursing him.

 

“Do you recant your claim to the throne then?” one of the lords of the council asked bluntly and without leave to speak. Arthur glared at him but he didn’t seem to care, looking at the sorceresses warily. Although, considering what they’d witnessed of Morgana in past several years, Arthur couldn’t really blame the man.

 

Morgana gave him a steady look. “I’ve no interest in this petty game of kings.” Her voice was cold and dismissive. “My only interest is in rebuilding the Old Religion.”

 

That set off a murmur and brought a smile that could only be described as wicked to her face before she continued.

 

“Although, it should be noted that I remain his only heir.”

 

The murmuring in the room increased to something more worried and Arthur shifted uncomfortably. He hadn’t thought of that but she was quite right - illegitimate or not, she was the only other person with a right to the throne.

 

Morgause looked faintly amused, as though she very much liked seeing the disquiet her sister could cause with words alone. Arthur suspected that having them as neutral allies would prove a sometimes trying experience.

 

“We’ll see what the future brings,” he said quietly.

 

Next to him, Gwen blushed a little.

 

“We would expect to left alone,” Morgause stated, getting back to proper business rather than these games. “Not spied upon nor checked up on, the same courtesy that any other neighbouring kingdom would expect.”

 

“The Isle of the Blessed isn’t another kingdom,” a lord pointed out. “It lies within Camelot’s borders.”

 

“It is not part of Camelot’s lands,” Morgause insisted sharply, clearly affronted at the suggestion.

 

Arthur held his hand up for peace before the lord could speak again.

 

“We have no interest in the Isle, I assure you.” Which was true. It was absolutely no use to them and he saw no reason to argue over its ownership, even if it technically did reside in Camelot.

 

“We expect the persecution of our kind to cease immediately,” Morgause continued, quite firm. “We will keep to peace as long as Camelot does, but if we should hear of unjust persecution…”

 

She managed to make that sound more businesslike than a threat.

 

Arthur nodded. “No persecution will be unjust in my kingdom,” he promised.

 

Morgana looked at him sharply. “I’d think any persecution would be unjust considering what’s happened. Our people have suffered enough at the hands of Camelot. Any of them that strike against it are simply protecting against more harm.”

 

She truly did see herself as devoid of connection with those in Camelot it seemed and her logic was highly skewed.

 

“A protection that kills people,” Arthur pointed out, an old feeling of competition with her rising. He remembered this, their passionate arguments, the sniping at each other. It hadn’t been so serious back then. Or likely to lead to war.

 

Gwen clearly remembered it too because she read the warning signs and interjected at just the right time; whilst things were still relatively cordial.

 

“Is there anything you can tell us about the plans Mordred has for Camelot?” she asked as a distraction. “We’ve heard he’s very powerful.”

 

Arthur had told her all about what’d happened, about the fact that the boy he’d once rescued was the powerful sorcerer he’d been warned about - something Morgause had confirmed although she’d claimed not to know his name before she sent them there. She claimed too that he had deep grievances against Camelot and Arthur had chosen to believe her. It was hardly implausible after all; his own sister and uncle had turned on him - although the reasons for Agravaine’s betrayal still eluded Arthur - why should a druid boy he’d met and helped only once be any different? Mordred’s father had died because of Camelot after all; it was clear to see why he’d be yet another to hold a grudge.

 

Morgana looked affected by Gwen addressing her directly, as though she hadn’t been expecting it and certainly wasn’t prepared. It brought an instant softness to her face - a sadness of friendship lost even if she didn’t want to show it - and suddenly, she looked much more like the girl Arthur remembered.

 

“Is he allied with you?” Gwen pressed gently when she didn’t answer. “Would the truce extend to him too?”

 

Morgana seemed to collect herself, her shell hardening once more.

 

“No,” she said simply. “He’s not of our kind.”

 

Arthur shared a look with Gwen and so missed the very pointed glance Morgana threw in Merlin’s direction. He missed too Merlin suddenly looking very worried about what she might say next.

 

When Arthur did look back at her, she was smiling slightly. Not exactly a happy expression but not looking like she was about to enjoy destroying him either.

 

“You have…done me a kindness, Arthur,” she said with a nod of acknowledgement. “You’ve returned me to what I love the most “ She looked at Morgause and Arthur couldn’t help but feel that was a bit of a dig at the rest of them. “So as a gesture of goodwill, I’ll tell you this; Mordred had an interest in allying himself with King Lot.”

 

That set a new murmuring about the room, more troubled this time and not directed at Morgana. The recent attack was still fresh on everyone’s mind; Lot was a man who didn’t like being made a fool of.

 

Arthur nodded gravely, in thanks.

 

“We’re grateful for the gesture.”

 

“But it doesn’t make up for everything,” she pointed out astutely.

 

“No, it doesn’t.”

 

The feeling was quite mutual.

 

**********************

 

Morgana went to find Morgause in the infirmary once she taken several hours’ sleep. She was genuinely still recovering, finding herself tired after the rigours of the council meeting. She knew that Morgause saying they needed to stay was still partly a ruse - if she’d wanted to, Morgause could’ve used magic to return them to the shores of the Isle - but Morgause expressed the need to take time over this initial accord with Arthur. She wanted to be sure of the terms. They couldn’t afford the distraction of fighting him once their work on the Isle commenced. She’d much appreciated Morgana’s gesture of good will - the information about Mordred - in that regard, knowing it’d impressed him.

 

Morgana was content to go along with her, although she felt a discomfort being here. People whispered as she passed them in the corridor, throwing her looks as she passed - fearful, suspicious, hating. She hadn’t much cared for their opinion of her when she’d lived here and she cared even less now, but she hated to be watched all the time. It added to the discomfort sitting in her belly that simply wouldn’t dissipate. It kept telling her that something was wrong here.

 

The infirmary held only two patients now, both soldiers who’d been injured in the fight with Lot’s men, sustaining nasty lacerations. Morgause had been treating them, using poultices and potions to heal their wounds and ease their discomforts. She said she wanted the people of Camelot to remember the good that magic could do, how it had once helped them. Having the favour of the people - even if many didn’t really deserve their help - was a wise political move.

 

Morgause was very good at thinking up such things - at strategising and long term plotting. Morgana left her to it, her own skills lying elsewhere. Mostly, at the moment, in tormenting Merlin as he still insisted upon being her shadow when he could. Taunting him brought her some satisfaction at least even if it still felt like an itch she couldn’t scratch.

 

“You look more rested,” Morgause said with a smile as Morgana joined her - followed by a guard as always.

 

“I’m better, thank you. I came to see if I could help.”

 

She wasn’t really interested in the soldiers’ wellbeing in all honesty, but it felt much better to be at Morgause’s side than to sit and think alone. Things with Arthur had been tense in the meeting and it was playing on her mind as she tried to work out if she cared or not.

 

Morgause nodded at her. “You could make some more milk of ditany.”

 

She watched as Morgana went and fetched the right ingredients from the shelf - the fact that Arthur was allowing them to mix such potions was considered a gesture of trust by him and Morgana supposed it was - and started measuring them.

 

“Good,” Morgause praised. “You’ve remembered what I taught you. You always had skill with healing.”

 

Morgana looked up at Morgause, straight at the faintest traces of scars on her face. “Not always enough,” she said quietly.

 

Morgause was intuitive. “Not everything can be healed, Morgana.” She hesitated a moment. “Although I am sorry that I asked you to do what I did. I was in pain and afraid of leaving my life’s work undone. I wanted to leave you strong.”

 

Morgana nodded. She knew that. But all she’d really done is leave her alone and angry at the world.

 

“You’re here now,” she replied softly. That’s what mattered, not the past. She wondered why she couldn’t apply the same principle to Arthur.

 

“As are you,” Morgause smiled, seeming so very pleased at that. It made Morgana smile too.

 

“Although I’m surprised to see you tending Camelot soldiers.”

 

“I helped Guinevere defend the castle from Lot’s intrusion - it seemed like a good way of gaining her favour - and I treated these men immediately after their injuries. I don’t leave a job half done.”

 

That much was very true.

 

Morgana’s mind was starting to wander to uncomfortable thoughts of Camelot’s new queen when the woman herself appeared at the door. She looked momentarily surprised to see Morgana there, but quickly composed herself.

 

“I came to see how your patients were,” Gwen said to Morgause although she gave Morgana a smile, showing she wasn’t ignoring her.

 

Morgana supposed the gesture was meant to be warming, but it made her uneasy, remembering her own reaction in the council chamber when Gwen had spoken to her - such painful memories of the friendship she’d once treasured flaring immediately, causing her to react in a way that she was sure looked like weakness. Now she just nodded, polite but not wanting to get too close. She couldn’t go back, she reminded herself again. It was becoming a mantra.

 

“Very well,” Morgause assured. “They should be all but healed by the time we leave.”

 

“When will that be?”

 

“The day after tomorrow, I hope.”

 

Did Gwen look disappointed there?

 

Her voice dropped.

 

“I’ve spoke to Arthur about the laws on magic,” she said in a hurried whisper, almost like she was afraid of being overheard. “I want to see them overturned too. He’s…sensitive about them, given the past, but I’m sure he’ll do what’s right. Just give him time.”

 

Morgana couldn’t help the suspicion that rose in her - what was this? A pointed attempt by Gwen to make them trust her? What was she trying to get out of them?

 

Morgause simply nodded. “I hope so.” She didn’t betray whether or not she believed it.

 

Gwen looked at Morgana but the sorceress simply managed another nod, leaving Gwen with an expression that could only be described as ‘disappointed’.

 

“Well I won’t disturb your work,” Gwen said. “I hope we can speak again before you leave.”

 

Morgana presumed that was directed at her but, as Gwen walked from the room once more, her mind seemed to instantly push thoughts of the other woman away. There was something else there, something far more important. A niggling discomfort at the back of her thoughts. There was something she was supposed to do before she left.

 

Morgause’s smile was as pleased as she’d ever seen it and she pressed a firm kiss to Morgana’s lips. “Whatever you need. Rest, my love. Rest and let us become reacquainted with each other’s arms. And then we’ll go home.”

 

Unseen to Morgause, Morgana’s gaze remained distant and troubled as she settled into her embrace once more.


	12. Chapter 12

Morgause was smiling as Morgana curled up beside her in bed, hoping perhaps for some of that joy to rub off on the other woman. It wasn’t that Morgana was exactly unhappy -more…unsettled. Staying in Camelot was disagreeing with her.

 

“I think first we must replant some of the ancient flowers,” Morgause mused, absently stroking Morgana’s back as she wrapped her arms around her. “We must return as much life to the Isle as we can to encourage magic to flourish once more. And fortify the defences, of course. Arthur seems genuine in his wish for peace but we would be foolish to trust him entirely. The wyverns will return if we do, I’m sure.”

 

Morgana absently mused if they could somehow find Aithusa as well. Although, she presumed, the dragon was more likely to find her.

 

Hadn’t she had a dream like that once? It seemed oddly hard to remember.

 

Suddenly curious, as though she hadn’t really heard most of what Morgause had said, Morgana looked up at her. “You surprise me.”

 

“In what way?”

 

“I never thought I’d see you give up your life’s quest to remove the Pendragons from Camelot so easily.”

 

It wasn’t as though she couldn’t see the sense in Morgause’s plan and understand her change of priorities, but it didn’t sit right somehow. Nothing did. Morgana felt…unfinished.

 

“Not all Pendragons are worthy of my censure,” Morgause reminded her gently, stroking her cheek. “Besides, as I’ve said, being beyond the Veil has allowed me to see things. To gain perspective I otherwise could not. Uther is dead by the hands of magic and that provides a balance of justice even if it was dearly brought.”

 

Morgana remembered the moment well. She remembered too wondering if it’d really all been worth it. Now she wondered if it was enough.

 

“We could chase vengeance for the rest of our days,” Morgause continued. “There are plenty out that there still owed it. But our people would die out entirely whilst we fought and then all our work - all my life - would have been for nothing. I must bring back magic to the world.”

 

Morgana nodded, understanding. “It’s what you must do,” she assured, pressing a lingering kiss to Morgause’s cheek before laying against her shoulder again and pretending to sleep.

 

Several hours later, deep in the night, she was still awake although Morgause had drifted off soundly long ago. Without a word, Morgana slipped from her embrace, finding her own dress and pulling it on.

 

She would’ve begged her Morgause’s forgiveness, but something insisted to her that she wouldn’t understand.

 

And it told her that this is what she must do.

 

**********************

 

Merlin was admittedly exhausted and praying that Morgana and Morgause would leave the next day, as they’d promised, so he could finally get a proper night’s sleep. Gaius had tried to stop these nightly vigils for Merlin’s own sake, telling him that Arthur was taking every precaution and it was unlikely that they’d try anything. But Merlin couldn’t bring himself to trust in that. What if they were just waiting for him to drop his guard? Even if they did apparently agree to this uneasy truce, Merlin had seen how Morgana had looked at him in the garden. She bore him such malice that he wouldn’t put it passed her to do something out of spite, simply to hurt him. Her hatred ran very deep.

 

A small part of him thought that perhaps it was justified too.

 

Gaius had at least managed to persuade him to stop following their every move throughout the day - arguing that they were even more unlikely to try anything in broad daylight - and Merlin had got snatches of sleep between carrying out his normal duties. It wasn’t enough though and his eyes were drooping heavily now. Just one more night…

 

They snapped open again, on full alert when suddenly from his hiding place he spotted a dark, shadowy figure moving down the corridor. He knew it was her without even properly seeing her, he could feel her. Feel her magic and her burning hatred, always directed at him. He swiftly followed.

 

He wondered briefly how on earth she’d slipped passed the guards, but that shouldn’t be surprising - she’d grown up here, she likely knew every secret passage and door better than near anyone else.

 

For a moment he considered subtlety, following her and seeing what she was doing, but there was really no point. Clearly she was up to no good - sneaking around in the middle of the night - and it was far better to stop her now and ensure no one got hurt.

 

“Morgana,” he demanded, hurrying up behind her, once they were out of earshot and sight of the guards at her door. “What are you doing?”

 

Had she known he was following again? She didn’t even flinch.

 

She turned, a cruel, twisted look on her face.

 

“I’m going to kill the King and Queen,” she said, far too matter-of-factly. “You should probably stop me.”

 

He was so shocked at such a blunt confession - mind back pedalling to check he’d really heard what he though he had - that he didn’t raise his hand to defend himself as her magic threw him against the wall, knocking the breath out of him completely.

 

He groaned as he rose, forcing himself to his feet despite the fact his head was spinning in a sickening way. His vision was blurred too, but he could focus just about well enough to see her striding around the next turn in the corridor, a black angel delivering death in his suddenly skewed mind. He had to stop her.

 

He staggered down the corridor, knocking his shoulder hard against the wall as he moved unsteadily, blundering onwards despite his body’s insistence that he stop and recover. She was going to kill Arthur and Gwen. He’d known it all along. He’d been right.

 

Why had she told him? Blunt arrogance?

 

His head hurt and it didn’t really make sense, he just knew he had to get there, continuing desperately on as he became more afraid of failing.

 

Outside the king and queen’s bed chambers, two guards lay on the floor - dead or unconscious, he didn’t stop to check - and he burst into the room with an ungainly clatter.

 

It was that which woke Arthur and Gwen up, not Morgana standing over them, a fireball growing in her hand and a deadly look on her face. Immediately Gwen let out a cry of alarm and, before he’d probably even had time to register what was happening, Arthur moved across to shield her from the oncoming attack. It wouldn’t be enough; they’d both burn.

 

Merlin’s hand was shaking as he rose it - not from the situation or any notion that his secret was about to come crashing out - but from the wreck his body suddenly felt. His head was pounding and he felt like he needed to drop to his knees and be sick, but he couldn’t. He had to stop her.

 

He had to think of a spell.

 

Nothing would come, his mind a whirling mess of pain and panic.

 

The fireball roared.

 

Suddenly, from no where, Morgana flew across the room, struck by an invisible force and hitting the wall like a ragdoll, just as he had moments before. Merlin’s head was spinning so badly that he almost thought he was hallucinating when he saw Morgause emerge from a side chamber, dressed in a white night shirt and with a look of shock on her face.

 

Morgana seemed to react instinctively, rising despite the viciousness of her impact with the wall, hurling the still burning fireball at Morgause with intent.

 

If there was anything that could have shocked Merlin into dumb inaction…

 

Morgause swiped her hand, dismissing the flame before it got to her, a mixed look of fury and anguish on her face. She strode towards Morgana purposefully, saying nothing, simply whipping her hand forward again and smashing Morgana against the wall for a second time. Even then, the fight wasn’t out of Morgana and, as Morgause moved to pin her down and place the necklace back on her, a struggle ensued.

 

Arthur, many years of training allowing him to act quickly even in shock, dived out of bed and helped Morgause to pin the struggling woman down.

 

Morgana didn’t say a thing, didn’t protest. It was almost like she wasn’t even really here, just a puppet that fought them fiercely and with deadly intent still in her eyes.

 

Gwen hurried over to Merlin, easing him to the ground, assistance that he gratefully took.

 

“Are you hurt?” she asked gently, voice still shaking.

 

“My head,” he mumbled, eyes still on the scuffle.

 

As the struggle on the other side of the room subsided - the necklace having been put back in place - Gwen hurriedly checked him over, Merlin hissing in pain as she touched a spot on the back of his head. There was blood there when she pulled her fingers away.

 

Better late than never - or maybe not - two guards burst in the room, clearly alerted from somewhere close by Gwen’s cry or the sounds of the fight. Their swords were drawn, instantly moving towards the two sorceresses.

 

Morgause raised her hand - a gesture that was only threatening from a magic user - and her voice was hurried but firm. “Stay back! I shall kill any man who makes a move to her!”

 

She looked as shocked as rest of them and, Merlin had to admit, whatever decisions Morgana had come to it was very clear that Morgause was no more a part of this than anyone else was. Even for one of her callous plans, this wouldn’t make sense, not when they were so close to truce.

 

“What the hell was she doing?” growled Arthur standing up as Morgause drew Morgana’s head into her lap, checking her over for injury.

 

She shook her head, talking more to herself than answering his question. “I had no idea the enchantment had taken her so deeply. For the spell not to have worked…” She looked gravely troubled.

 

Arthur was quick. “She’s still under Mordred’s control? A  rather convenient excuse, don’t you think?”

 

Merlin couldn’t blame him for his suspicions. Her shock could be a well played game to protect Morgana, after all.

 

Morgause’s eyes flared angrily. “And do you think if I had been party to this plan - if it had been my goal - I would have just saved your lives? That I would have attacked her? On the contrary, Arthur Pendragon, if I wanted you dead, I would have done it myself.”

 

It was so obviously true that it made Arthur signal the guards to lower their weapons.

 

“Go and fetch Gaius,” Gwen instructed one of them. “Merlin’s hurt.”

 

Arthur glanced across at him, concerned, but Merlin shook his head dismissively. It wasn’t serious, he’d be all right.

 

“So what?” Arthur said, turning back to Morgause as the guard left. “This was Mordred’s plan?”

 

“Clearly,” Morgause said with disdain although it was unclear if that was directed at Arthur  - who she thought was being thick for asking - or Mordred himself. Probably both. Morgause was proud and seemed to have no deep respect for anyone but Morgana.

 

“He let us take her so she could kill us,” Arthur guessed gravely.

 

“Possibly.”

 

Morgause looked up at Merlin, a subtle glance but catching his eye. There was something akin to suspicion in her face and he really wanted to know what it was for but had no opportunity to ask.

 

“I told you what would have to happen if you couldn’t break that spell,” Arthur warned quietly.

 

Merlin doubted he was saying that there was no choice but to kill Morgana now - he knew very well that Arthur didn’t really want that - but it was his way of asking Morgause to give him another option. And fast.

 

“I have harmed her enough for one day,” Morgause barked back, absently stroking Morgana’s head. Those blows against the wall had been nasty.

 

“Is there another way?” Gwen pressed gently, surprisingly calm considering she’d just been nearly burnt alive in her bed.

 

Her tone brought a sense of ease to the room, dissipating some of the tension. It was clear that all she was interested in was taking the next step to help. It gave them all focus.

 

Even Morgause seemed placated and she was thoughtful a moment before speaking. “There is. I will need a horse prepared immediately so I can take her to the Isle of the Blessed and perform a deeper spell. There may still be enough magic there to help free her.”

 

“You’re not going alone,” Arthur immediately insisted. “I want to see this finished.”

 

There seemed to be a threat there but Morgause simply nodded. Merlin just wished that he wasn’t too knocked about to argue with him.

 

**********************

 

The journey started at dawn and was long and silent. Arthur had suggested that they bring a horse and cart to transport Morgana but Morgause had declined; that would make the journey slower and she wanted to get there as quickly as possible.

 

“If we set off again at dawn,” she stated as they stopped to make camp, finally dismounting after Arthur had lifted an unconscious Morgana down from in front of her, “we shall be at the shores of the lake shortly after the sun is fully risen.”

 

She glanced across at the knights who’d joined them on the journey, wanting to protect their King.

 

“They are not permitted to come.”

 

Merlin - who’d recovered enough from his blow to the head to insist upon joining them - saw there was no room for compromise in her words. Morgause had agreed, as a courtesy, to let Arthur watch the spell performed, but she’d been vocally adamant about not wanting the Isle ‘sullied’ more than necessary. It was in delicate enough state as it was.

 

As she passed Merlin, going to fetch a bed roll to lay Morgana on from the pack his horse had been carrying, he whispered shortly to her.

 

“I’m coming too.”

 

“Are you now?”

 

“Yes,” he said firmly. “Unless you want to argue it. And maybe, if it came to it, you could beat Arthur and his knights. Maybe even me if you got lucky. But are you willing to risk Morgana’s safety for the sake of it?”

 

Had that meant to be a threat? He didn’t know, but it oddly made him feel better.

 

She glared at him, obviously not liking it, but nodded all the same. The distraction would be unwise.

 

Later, with the camp fire burning high and one of his rough stews cooking, Merlin was close enough to hear Arthur talking quietly to Morgause.

 

“I neglected to thank you,” he said, his voice serious but genuine. “You saved Gwen and I.” He smiled a little. “Although I’m well aware you didn’t do it all for us.”

 

No, had Morgana succeeded, she would’ve been hunted as a murderer and the peace Morgause had arranged in their favour would’ve been shattered. She’d many selfish reasons to keep the king and queen alive.

 

She nodded though, accepting his thanks all the same.

 

“Do you think it will work this time?” he asked.

 

Morgause looked at him steadily. “The Isle is where our magic is strongest. Mordred’s of a different kind and not welcome there” - she glanced at Merlin - “hopefully that will be enough to banish him entirely from her mind.”

 

“And then she’ll stop trying to kill me?” Arthur asked dryly.

 

Morgause gave him a dry look of her own. “I suppose that’s up to you and your actions.” She let that hang a moment before continuing. “I do understand that you feel a sense of betrayal from her, but do not underestimate how much deeper hers goes. You have always had power and position. You cannot know what it’s like to be helpless. As I was, just a child when Uther began slaughtering my people.”

 

Arthur’s gaze was steady, unyielding. “Magic killed my mother and brought misery to the kingdom. Magic has attacked my kingdom many times since. It isn’t blameless.”

 

“No,” she agreed. “But who struck first?”

 

She let him think on that and Merlin felt a pang of jealousy. It should be him who was telling Arthur things like this, trying to get him to see the truth in magic. If only he were free to do so…

 

“I hope,” Morgause continued after a moment, “if I can free her mind, she will be able to see this new path ahead of us with clarity. She is passionate, just like her mother was, and sometimes those passions lead her to do rash things. But, if she is directed wisely, she will be wondrous.”

 

Not for the first time, Merlin saw the love Morgause had for her sister and part of him could understand why Morgana had given herself to that so entirely.

 

Arthur was frowning a little at her though.

 

“Don’t you mean your mother?” he asked, curious.

 

Morgause simply smiled as she got up.

 

“Do I now?”

 

She moved back to Morgana’s side without saying another word.


	13. Chapter 13

The boat was waiting for them at the shores of the lake which Morgause found encouraging. It seemed to be a sign, telling her that she was doing the right thing and the solution awaited them on the Isle. That the Goddess wanted her to bring Her daughter home.

 

Not so encouraging was the fact that the boatman was gone. Vanished along with much of the rest of the Isle’s magic now. Even the skies were quiet - no longer filled with the cry of wyverns - and the clouds grey and oppressive. Sorrowful.

 

She carefully lay Morgana down, the small craft steady under her feet. The rest of the knights were standing a few feet back with the horses, looking grave and uneasy. Arthur and Merlin were close though, watching her every move carefully and with undisguised suspicion. She didn’t care; she only wanted to see Morgana truly returned to her.

 

She sat herself down, laying Morgana’s head tenderly in her lap, whispering words of comfort. The boat rocked as Arthur and Merlin joined her.

 

“You can row,” she said simply.

 

To his credit, Arthur didn’t argue, hunting out the oars, setting them in place and pulling on them powerfully. He used his strength well despite the load in the boat, making good pace across the eerily still waters.

 

“Things are worse than when I was last here,” Morgause commented quietly, uncharacteristically open. It was shocking to see the state the Isle was in; more walls of the citadel had fallen and even the grass was dying. There wasn’t much time left and yet she knew Arthur would insist upon Morgana going back to Camelot to sort things out properly between them.

 

Morgause wanted to keep his cooperation - they very clearly couldn’t afford the distraction of being at odds with him - but she would have to ensure that it was a very short visit.

 

“My sister would be dismayed to see this,” she murmured.

 

“She’s not your sister,” Arthur pointed out bluntly.

 

Morgause looked at him, surprised for a moment at his intuition and then smiling. It seemed he wasn’t as dense as he sometimes appeared. Merlin frowned though, clearly uncertain as to how Arthur could know what he didn’t. The boot on the other foot for once.

 

“No,” she confirmed, just as blunt. “But we are a sisterhood; the term has been used for centuries. The bond of magic we share is deeper than any blood could be.”

 

Arthur didn’t seem to take that as a personal slight.

 

“Does Morgana know?” he asked, a cynical undertone to his voice. Perhaps he wanted to accuse Morgause of keeping her in the dark just as much as others had done about her powers and her heritage.

 

“Of course. I had thought we were half sisters when we first met - that Gorlois was father to both of us - but things changed when Morgana learnt of her true parentage.”

 

Arthur seemed to tense at that. Yes, much had changed then.

 

“It does not mean I love her any less,” Morgause said, almost proudly, still stroking Morgana’s hair.

 

She wondered briefly how aware Arthur was about the true nature of their relationship. If he was, he was at great pains to pretend to be ignorant.

 

His looked was grave. “Is there anything else I should know?”

 

“Plenty,” she said with bold honesty. “If I was you, I’d start with looking for the truth about your mother…”

 

Arthur very clearly wanted to ask more but the boat touched the shore and there was no time. He offered to carry Morgana whilst Morgause led the way and she accepted the gesture with a nod of gratitude, glad to see his attachment to his sister still. It was important. Merlin trailed behind them, silent and brooding. Morgause ignored him. Hopefully this would be the last time he was ever able to step foot on this island.

 

The sight of the altar even gave her pause. The notion that it was the place where her life had been surrender wasn’t lost on her but there was no time to dwell on such things.

 

“Lay her down,” she instructed Arthur, opening the bag she’d brought with her and bringing out pre-prepared bundles of herbs. She lit them briefly with magic and then blew them out again, leaving them smoking so their aromas filled the air. They would help cleanse Morgana’s mind.

 

She hesitated just a moment as she pulled out the knife too. She’d hoped not to have to go to such extreme measures, but there was no other option now and she steeled herself against it. She’d asked worse of Morgana.

 

“What are you doing?” Arthur asked, concerned at the sight of the blade. Even Merlin looked vaguely disturbed. Morgause doubted that even he’d ever utilised such powers; they required intimate knowledge of the deep world.

 

“Purging her of his darkness,” she said steadily. “Do not disturb me again.”

 

To his credit, Arthur was silent, even as Morgause slowly carved the first shallow symbol into the back of Morgana’s hand with the knife point. She spoke the right words as blood bloomed against Morgana’s pale skin. She must do this on every important point of magic on her body, creating a purifying web inside her, leaving his darkness no place to hide and forcing it from her.

 

She carved into both of Morgana’s hands first, then her ankles and her chest before she took the knife to the black dress, slicing it straight down the middle and leaving her naked and exposed. Unfortunate, given the company, but it couldn’t be helped.

 

“Don’t look,” she heard Arthur saying very firmly to Merlin.

 

That almost made her smile.

 

Several more carved symbols - between her breasts, on her stomach, her thighs, her calves, her shoulders - all with the same words spoken, driving the intrusion from every part of her body. Trails of blood marred Morgana’s skin, flowing in narrow crimson lines to drip onto the altar, but Morgause ignored them as she must. Instead she carved the last symbol, right into her forehead.

 

As soon as she closed the circle, Morgana bucked, arching painfully as though he insides were being tugged on with force.

 

Still unconscious, she screamed.

 

**********************

 

Morgana was alone in a forest. Not that she was afraid; it was peaceful here, quiet and warm. She’d no idea how she’d come to be here, but she wasn’t in any hurry to leave.

 

The time to herself seemed an infinite blessing but somehow she wasn’t surprised when a figure sat down beside her. Nor was she upset when she saw who it was.

 

“Aglaine,” she greeted, a smile on her lips. It’d been too long since she’d seen his kind face and the warmth that grew inside her was something she rarely felt any more.

 

“Morgana,” he said in turn, his voice as rich as she remembered as he nodded at her. “I’m sorry to see you here.”

 

She looked away, down at the ground. She didn’t want to think about that. Something had happened out there but she didn’t really want to know what. It was quiet in here.

 

“I’m not,” she insisted firmly. “I want to be here.”

 

He frowned at her gently. “Why?”

 

“It’s peaceful.”

 

Silently, all kind understanding, he took her hand between his. They were warm and her fingers chilled.

 

“No more fighting,” she added when he said nothing. “No more watching everything crumble apart.”

 

“There is fighting, out there” he agreed softly. “At this moment, they’re fighting for you. To bring you back. To release you. But you must truly want to be released.”

 

Morgana was silent now. Maybe she didn’t want to be. Maybe it would be better here. She was so tired now.

 

He looked at her, giving her a chance to speak again before he did instead, a sad smile on his lips. “I remember when I first saw you in the forest.  Such a contrast of beings - so bold and so afraid. And such a fragile heart, just wanting to be loved for who you truly were. To not have to hide from anyone ever again and to have something that was all yours.”

 

Her instinct was to argue against that, to rally against the suggestion of such weakness, but she said nothing around the constricting lump in her throat; emotions threatening to spill forth.

 

“But it was a good heart too,” he added, such kindness in his ways. “And it still is, despite what they think, it is just so lost under everything else.”

 

“They took it all from me,” she said numbly. “They destroyed everything I had.”

 

“And you gave them destruction back. Where does it all end? In the ruin of all?”

 

Did he know that she’d often wondered of late if there was anything left worth saving? If she was fighting for justice or ruin?

 

“Morgana,” he said, turning towards her, his gaze direct and warm as he gave her hand a tender squeeze, “I didn’t know you long, but do you believe me when I say I cared about you? That I still do, like a tutor might care for a most precious pupil? Even as a father might a daughter?”

 

It seemed ridiculous; she’d only ever spent a couple of days with him, glad for his kindness and understanding, but never thinking she was special to him. And yet she believed him in an instant. Perhaps because it was what she’d wanted, ever since her own father - Gorlois, who would always be ‘father’ to her - had died. That unconditional love that she knew nothing could shake.

 

“You died because of me,” she reminded him sadly.

 

“I died because of Uther’s hatred,” he said. “Like so many others. My only regret is that I wasn’t there to guide you when you needed it.”

 

“I had Morgause.”

 

“And she was taken from you too,” he said, sad for her. “She loves you, never doubt it. But she has spent her life on a single mission and it took her death to see beyond that. She hasn’t always guided you wisely in the past but her vision is clearer now. There is strength to be had beyond taking simple revenge. There are other ways to win.”

 

Morgana looked at him steadily. She knew he was right and yet the issue of justice still prickled at her mind; how could she let Arthur and Merlin get away with everything they’d done? Aglaine seemed to read her gaze perfectly.

 

“I know you blame Arthur and Merlin for their crimes and I agree that those should not be dismissed; they have much to atone for. But give them a chance to do so. You’re not entirely wrong, Morgana, you don’t have to admit defeat, you just have move on. Don’t let Uther’s hatred infect you all and lead so many more to their deaths. Don’t let him win.”

 

She was quiet and thoughtful, laying her head on his shoulder so she could consider his words without the weight of his gaze.

 

“It feels like if I give up fighting them, then they’ve beaten me,” she confessed, confirming what he’d said.

 

“They only ‘beat’ you if you do not achieve what you were set here to do. Why do you think Aithusa protects you?”

 

“Because I’m destined to restore the Old Religion,” she murmured automatically. She didn’t say the words with conviction but suddenly she felt it. Her heart burned with the certainty of it.

 

Aglaine nodded, pleased. “She sees what I do; the good in you, the potential. You are a powerful woman, Morgana. I want to see what you can still achieve. I want to see you build, not destroy. And I want you to be happy.”

 

“I have Morgause back.” That made her happy although her heart and head had been too full of other things to really appreciate it.

 

He smiled. “Yes, you do. And you will be happy with her, I swear, if you can let go of the past and grasp your future.”

 

He was silent a moment, hesitating before he spoke as though it was uncomfortable for him to say the words.

 

“I always knew that darkness resided in Mordred. It was why I took him in; I wanted to try to temper that. To burn it out with kindness and learning. Perhaps I wouldn’t have succeeded anyway but I had to try.” He lifted her chin gently, making her look at him. “You know his desires deep down, don’t you?”

 

She nodded, her gaze more open and honest than it’d been in a very long time. Sadness there.

 

“He doesn’t care for the Old Religion or the Goddess. Or me.”

 

“That is not entirely true,” Aglaine admitted. “He does have affection for you - more so than any other, I think - but his obsession is Merlin and he would see nothing come between them, hesitate at nothing to get him where he wants him. I don’t want to see you embroiled in their struggles. You are too important and I care for you too much.”

 

He squeezed her hand once more as if he could pass strength to her that way, before standing, guiding her to her feet and starting to walk arm in arm with her.

 

“I want you to go and be free. I want to see you be better than what you’ve become. I know you’ve always wanted a land where your people can be safe; make it. Protect them. Make Camelot do the right thing with your words, not more violence. That is your skill and your destiny.”

 

“And if I fail?”

 

“You won’t. As long as you leave the quarrels of others behind. Your path lies in a different direction from theirs.”

 

At those words they stopped, a path between the trees before them, leading into the unknown.

 

“I promise you, Morgana, this is the right way. Don’t doubt yourself. Let yourself be loved and happy and you will succeed in all you need to do. You’ll make good of all that’s happened.”

 

She looked up at him, smiling genuinely for the first time in too long. Proper happiness and maybe even hope.

 

“And what about you? What will you do?”

 

He smiled too. “Gaze down on you with happiness and pride.”

 

He kissed her forehead and then led her forward down the path.

 

**********************

 

Arthur felt sick to his stomach at the screams, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself demanding that Morgause cease at once. She knew what she was doing, he told himself, she wouldn’t harm Morgana unless it was necessary.

 

He distracted himself by glaring at Merlin, just daring him to take a peek at Morgana’s naked form so he could berate him for doing so. Fortunately - unfortunately? - Merlin didn’t move, gaze fixed on the bottom of the altar instead, flinching only slightly at the screams. It seemed he had more mettle than Arthur would have credited him with.

 

Those screams were painful and raw but Morgause continued regardless, even though he could see from the tension in her whole body that they affected her too.

 

When they suddenly, finally, stopped, he took a deep breath, not realising that he’d been holding his.

 

Unable to stand by so uselessly any longer, he took several hurried paces forward.

 

“Did it work?”

 

He got some form of answer as dark liquid seeped from the wounds in Morgana’s pale flesh, draining down to the altar and disappearing in the stone as though, whatever it was, was being sucked away. The carved cuts instantly closed, leaving her skin entirely unmarked.

 

Morgause seemed to sag and Arthur, before he could think better of it, placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. To his surprise, she didn’t shrug him off.

 

“She’s been released,” she announced with obvious relief.

 

Arthur quickly removed his cloak, Morgause working in unison to tug away the remains of the black dress as he covered Morgana to keep her warm and preserve her dignity. Morgause removed the chain from her neck too, yet Morgana didn’t awake.

 

“Give her a moment,” Morgause insisted at his concerned look. “Her body has been severely taxed.”

 

Arthur nodded.

 

“Merlin, your belt,” he demanded, hand held out for it.

 

Merlin said nothing, doing as he was asked, even with a highly uneasy still look on his face.

 

Arthur helped to raise Morgana and she groaned softly, starting to wake. Instantly, automatically, he whispered some words of comfort and, much to his surprise, she didn’t start at his voice. Morgause wrapped the belt around her, using it to create a makeshift dress from his cloak. Hardly perfect but it would do until they could get her back to Camelot.

 

Arthur wanted to take her home.

 

**********************

 

By the time they reached the boat again, Morgana was fully awake, insisting that Arthur put her down and let her walk. He did so and she nodded at him in mute thanks, before pressing up at Morgause’s side and walking next her instead. He decided to take that as an encouraging sign - she wasn’t cursing him or sneering at him at least.

 

Merlin stayed behind them, uncharacteristically silent.

 

Morgana was quiet and withdrawn throughout the short journey back to camp, talking to no one but Morgause, her expression constantly thoughtful. She spared Arthur the occasional glance - curious but not unkind. She didn’t look at Merlin at all.

 

Despite the apparent success, the camp was tense, the knights obviously curious as to what’d happened but Arthur declining to tell them. They clearly didn’t quite trust Morgana still, giving her suspicious glances and Arthur couldn’t blame them. It would take a long time for them all. Whatever her intentions now, she still wore the face of the enemy and that wouldn’t be easy to forget.

 

She was too weak still to travel that night and Morgause insisted that they remain where they were and start the journey back the next morning. Arthur didn’t mind. He’d still much to think about, although he wasn’t sure he’d get any answers alone. Every morsel of information Morgause had teased him with was leaving an uneasy knot in his stomach. Which was probably exactly what she wanted, he acknowledged.

 

He watched the two women talking hushed whispers until his sister curled up to sleep. She somehow seemed smaller and younger again, stripped of black, wrapped in his over-sized cloak. He remembered that feeling of protection quite fiercely.

 

Waiting a while, ensuring she was fully asleep, he walked across to Morgause and came to sit down beside her.

 

“I want to know the truth,” he said bluntly, free to ask her now Morgana wasn’t the immediate priority. “I know that things are being kept from me, that there’s things I’m missing. But I don’t know who to ask and how can I make an informed decision and be a good king if I don’t have all the facts? It’s clear you have some knowledge. I want to know.”

 

Morgause looked at him plainly, with bold, clear eyes.

 

“You might not like all the answers,” she warned.

 

“I like the lies even less.”

 

She nodded, apparently satisfied with the wisdom there.

 

“Then sleep,” she insisted. “We shall talk again later.”

 

Later turned out to be much sooner than he’d thought. Several hours later, he found himself grumbling as he was awoken by a shake to his shoulder. He rubbed his eyes, looking perplexed at Morgause and wondering what the problem was until she spoke.

 

“If want your answers, come with me.”

 

He sat up, instantly alert, only briefly considering whether he should accept that offer before nodding. Merlin was awake - who had thought it was a good idea to leave him on watch? - and he looked at Arthur with concern.

 

As Morgause moved away for a moment, checking on Morgana before she left, Merlin hurriedly shuffled closer.

 

“What did she want?” Merlin said quietly to him, his voice tense.

 

“To show me something.”

 

“What?”

 

“I don’t know yet.”

 

“Arthur…”

 

Arthur simply shook his head, understanding the concern but…

 

“I’m tired of thinking that everything is an elaborate plan to kill me,” he replied, only partly joking. “I’m going to see what she wants. I can take care of myself.”

 

Merlin gave him a very odd look.

 

**********************

 

Merlin didn’t like this at all; neither Morgause having Arthur alone and potentially vulnerable - he could have followed but she’d likely have prevented him somehow - nor what she might be telling him.

 

He’d heard something about ‘answers’. Answers to what? The secrets surrounding him? Merlin’s secret?

 

The sensible, practical part of Merlin didn’t see what she had to gain out of revealing it any more - in fact, surely it was to her benefit to have Arthur alive and well and being watched over, keeping their truce rather than an unknown replacement who may not be so kind - but he wouldn’t put it passed her to do so out of spite. He also wondered what else she might have to say. The poisoning? Arthur’s birth? She certainly knew all about that; she’d tried to reveal it to him before.

 

Merlin felt torn. He didn’t particularly like lying to Arthur and part of him certainly argued that Arthur had a right to know the true circumstances of his birth and what his father had done. Maybe it would make him kinder towards magic; make him understand what’d started this all and to see how important it was to make it right.

 

Or, conversely, the revelation could destroy him, making him see that his whole life was a lie; that his father was truly a terrible man and his mother really had died because of him. Not some tragic consequence of nature, but because he’d taken her place in life. Such painful knowledge could shatter him inside and Merlin cared about Arthur too much to risk that. He doubted Morgause felt the same way.

 

Somewhat fortunately, his worry was distracted by the sound of leathery wings, Aithusa swooping down, seemingly from nowhere again as she landed lightly. Immediately the dragon crossed over to Morgana,  nuzzling her gently before sitting down beside her. Protecting once more.

 

Merlin watched her in silence. Yet another headache; he still didn’t quite understand why Aithusa was protecting her but he’d several ideas and none of them boded well for him. They all meant that he’d in fact been badly deceived and had done some awful things - the things he regretted the most - that he might not have needed to.

 

“I suppose you wouldn’t tell me why you’re helping her if I asked nicely?” Merlin said dryly, looking at the dragon.

 

She cocked her head at him but said nothing, laying down next to Morgana, tail draped over her.

 

“That’s what I thought,” he reasoned with a sigh, getting up. “I’d better ask elsewhere then…”

 

There was a suitable clearing half a mile away and Kilgharrah arrived with surprising speed when summoned. Had he really been that close? Was he watching them? Merlin decided he’d quell such suspicion for now.

 

“You look troubled, young warlock,” the great dragon said, glancing down at him curiously. “As well you might, bringing the witch back amongst your fold.”

 

Merlin nodded, unsurprised to hear that he knew what’d been happening. He folded his arms, looking up at the dragon with a demanding set in his features.

 

“Aithusa is protecting her,” he said bluntly. “You told me, the white dragon boded well for Albion but she’s been protecting Arthur’s enemy. Why?”

 

Kilgharrah looked faintly startled and then his gaze dropped down, away from Merlin, his manner so clearly evasive that it immediately put Merlin on the defensive.

 

“Sometimes the very young do not know what is for the best.”

 

“Does Aithusa know something you don’t?” Merlin pressed, deeply concerned. “Or something you haven’t told me?”

 

The dragon looked back at him. Defiant. “It’s unimportant now. What’s done is done and happened for the best.”

 

No. Merlin wouldn’t accept that. He was no one’s puppet.

 

He drew himself to his full height, an oddly formidable sight. “I command you to tell me.”

 

Kilgharrah seemed angry at that, eyes flashing with it, Merlin returning the look just as fiercely until the dragon yielded.

 

“On your head be it,” he replied tersely, as though he thought Merlin was being a fool. “There were….suggestions in prophecy that Morgana Pendragon would have another role to play in the life of King Arthur.”

 

Merlin felt his throat constrict.

 

“Another role?”

 

“That she…might be of some use.”

 

It was a confirmation of what he’d feared.

 

“And you didn’t tell me?” Merlin bit out, voice tight. “You let me try to kill my friend, you encouraged it, when you knew there might be another way?”

 

He knew the creature could be deceptive, but this went beyond anything.

 

“Not another way,” Kilgharrah defended sharply. “Simply an ending that I did not think was worth all the pain she’d bring in the meantime. And if you had listened to me sooner, Merlin, and let her die, so much of that would have been avoided.”

 

“What ending? Tell me.”

 

Merlin’s voice was firm, dark and dangerous so that even Kilgharrah looked surprised. He apparently felt the need to draw himself up to his full height too but he couldn’t ignore the command.

 

“It is written, that at the end of his days, Morgana and her sisters of the Isle will take Arthur into their care and carry him to Avalon.”


	14. Chapter 14

The forest was ancient and old and seemed a place to be wary of to Arthur, but Morgause walked through it with assurance. Like she knew the paths well and that nothing here would dare hurt her. Arthur rather hoped that protection extended to him too.

 

He followed her every footstep carefully, saying nothing - he suspected his words would get him no information and be met with irritation at best - until they came across a small cottage, tucked between the trees as though it’d been there long before they’d started to grow.

 

“What is this place?” he asked quietly. The hush in his voice seemed natural here.

 

“The home of an oracle,” Morgause replied simply, as though that was a common place thing. She knocked at the door.

 

Arthur wanted to ask for more explanation, but the door opened surprising swiftly and a woman was standing there, smiling. She was neither young nor old, her face having a timeless quality that may have been considered quite beautiful if her eyes were not such a distraction. They were milky white all over, the faintest trace of her pupil still visible as though it was a scar. She was clearly blind.

 

Not that it seemed to affect her much as she stepped back with ease, indicating for them to pass her.

 

“Welcome and come in. I’d hoped you’d arrive before too long. Everything is almost prepared.”

 

She left them in the very simple and sparse main room - a bed in the corner that was untouched today - and headed to the adjoining chamber. A kitchen it seemed from the sounds and scents coming from it.

 

“Her eyes were damaged by one of Uther’s lords,” Morgause said, an explanation to the question he hadn’t yet asked. “She can see both the past and future but refuses to reveal the latter. She considers it too dangerous. The lord in question was angered at that. I fortunately managed to rescue her before his torturers did too much damage.”

 

To Arthur that sounded like propaganda again, an excuse to tell him how terrible his father and allies had been. Although, in fairness, the evidence of this particularly misdeed was right in front of him.

 

The oracle returned quickly, a bowl of herbs in her hand that was gently smoking, filling the room with a potent scent.

 

“It helps her to concentrate,” Morgause whispered to him, seeing his continued curiosity.

 

“Sit,” the woman insisted kindly, indicating the furs on the floor. They were surprisingly comfortable and Arthur shifted to get himself in an easy, cross legged position, glad he had decided against wearing his mail. Morgause sat down elegantly too, a little further back, watching proceedings carefully.

 

The woman nodded at the sorceress in acknowledgement, but then turned to Arthur, picking up a nearby pouch and tipping a number of fresh flower blossoms into her lap.

 

“I am pleased to see you here at last, Arthur Pendragon,” she said politely, apparently bearing him no ill will because of what those in the past had done. It was a refreshing change. “As I am sure the High Priestess has informed you, I will reveal nothing of your future and I warn you not to ask. But anything you wish to know about the past, I am free to tell you. What do you wish to know?”

 

 “What lies have been told to me?”

 

The oracle smiled. “Many. You need to be more specific.”

 

That was hardly encouraging to hear, but he thought a moment, long and hard, glancing at Morgause before speaking again. The question felt right. It was what troubled him the most.

 

“I want to know about my mother.”

 

The oracle nodded, picking a pale peach flower from the bundle in her lap and dropping it into the smoking pot. It disappeared quickly and, when she looked up, her eyes held the same peach hue.

 

“Igraine was married before your father,” she said simply, the facts pouring from her lips without attempting to soften the blow of surprise for him. “To Gorlois of Cornwall.”

 

Arthur’s brow shot up. “Morgana’s father?”

 

The oracle continued as though she hadn’t heard him. “The marriage was arranged by their fathers and was short in duration. Gorlois loved another, the Lady Vivienne, and Uther showed keen interest in Igraine after meeting her at Tintagel. A happy arrangement was made to annul the marriage, agreeable to all, leaving Gorlois free to pursue his true love in honour and Uther to take Igraine as his queen.”

 

Arthur nodded, taking that in. It was a shock, certainly, but hardly important. It wasn’t as if his father had taken her from Gorlois by force.

 

“It was not discovered that Igraine was already with child until after the new marriage had taken place.”

 

That did make his eyes widen in surprise, not having expected it at all.

 

“Uther could not truly be angry,” the oracle said, frowning as though she was surprised to know it. “Gorlois had never claimed the marriage was unconsummated, and the king had no desire to upset his beloved new bride with talk of herbal remedies to their situation. But the child was a complication that he did not wish to deal with and many feared what he might do with her in time. He was most relieved when the physician told him that she’d not survived birth.”

 

A clench on sadness gripped at Arthur’s as he realised what that meant; he’d had another sister.

 

“That must’ve been hard for my mother,” he murmured quietly. Perhaps it explained her desperation for another child and the lengths they’d gone to.

 

The oracle nodded.

 

“It was hard for the High Priestesses to see her grief from the lies, but more was at stake than one woman’s heart.”

 

Arthur’s head shot up from the thoughtful bow. “Lies?”

 

“The child survived. She was smuggled from Camelot and given to the High Priestesses to raise. Igraine’s grandmother was a powerful sorceress herself, and this daughter inherited those gifts.”

 

“Then…is she alive? Where is she?” Or had his father killed her along with so many other magic users? He almost couldn’t bear to hear it.

 

To his immense surprise though, the oracle turned her head slightly, looking straight at Morgause.

 

It took Arthur a moment to understand the implication and then Arthur looked at her too. Really looked at her. At her bright blonde hair and warm eyes, just like the vision he’d seen of his mother. The proud elegant features were Gorlois, a man Arthur remembered fondly from his youngest days. God. It didn’t seem possible and yet he knew.

 

As did Morgause, it appeared, since she hadn’t reacted at all.

 

“Another half-sister,” he murmured quietly, somewhat flippant in his shock. “I seem to be collecting them.”

 

Morgause smiled just a little. “You seem to be constantly at odds with them. I suggest that’s something we work upon. Brother.”

 

She said that word like the notion amused her. In some ways he supposed it was entirely laughable.

 

Common sense returned to him again though, a soldier’s wary manner.

 

“This could all be a lie,” he pointed out. “Your way of ensuring I support you.”

 

Which was true and certainly not something he’d put passed Morgause. She didn’t appear offended.

 

“Ask Gaius. He knows the truth.”

 

The suspicion in him vanished at that. Yes, Arthur thought grimly; Gaius knew all his father’s secrets and Morgause wouldn’t suggest it if she knew he wouldn’t confirm what Arthur was hearing.

 

“So,” he said after a hesitation, taking the shock of it better than he could imagine as he thought things through, “was it your birth that left her unable to have more children?”

 

Morgause nodded. “It was very difficult and her pregnancy had been kept as secret as possible so some of the finest midwives were not in attendance. Our mother barely survived it, which made it easy to convince her I had not. When she recovered, Uther wished to try for a son but the physicians said the trauma may have left conception impossible. There was no way to tell but, when no child came…”

 

Arthur felt for his mother. It would’ve broken her heart to think she’d lost one child and be unable to have any more.

 

“When no child came she turned to magic,” he confirmed. It made more sense now to see why she would have gone along with it.

 

“No,” the oracle interjected, voice a little sharper in the denial. “Igraine knew the ways of magic well enough and knew the price that would be required. She’d not be so foolish.”

 

Arthur’s face hardened, looking at Morgause. He knew just where this was going.

 

“You’ve told me this story before, it was a lie.”

 

“The lie is what you grew up with,” Morgause insisted.

 

“Uther went to Nimueh,” the oracle said, speaking plainly. “Nimueh told him there would be death in exchange for life. Igraine was barren and could create no life of her own, there was no other way.”

 

“Then Nimueh lied,” Arthur said firmly. “She didn’t tell my father who would die.”

 

Which wasn’t exactly blemish free - his father had still meant to sacrifice someone to gain the son he wanted - but it made his reaction understandable. Magic had taken Igraine from him in a cruel way, not telling him the true cost of his actions. He’d wanted no one else to suffer for the lies and, in his grief, had reacted too firmly. A tragic misjudgement.

 

“Nimueh didn’t know,” the oracle explained, looking into the smoke as though she could see the answers unfolding in the wisps and curls. “She would not have done it if she known the consequences. She wanted to ensure her people had the gratitude of Uther. Instead, he tried to destroy them.”

 

Morgause continued far more bluntly, clear anger in her voice. “Uther could not blame himself, could not take the guilt of what he’d done in order to secure his throne and legacy. He hadn’t cared who’d die - even, in his darkest moments, thinking your mother’s life was worth it to gain you. But he couldn’t bear to admit his own hand in it and so he blamed magic and killed hundreds to try to wash away the blood he bore. I think, in the end, he even convinced himself that the lie was true.”

 

Arthur stood sharply, feeling sick, everything suddenly feeling askew.

 

“That isn’t what happened,” he insisted.

 

This was a lie, a horrible lie and everything inside him fought against it. She was only saying it to make him feel sorry for her kind and swear to make amends. His father wouldn’t have done something so openly unjust and terrible - he remembered starkly those visions she’d shown him - not if he’d known the truth. He may have been misguided but this…it would make him little more than a murderer, protecting his own good name at the cost of innocent lives.

 

A tyrant. Just as Morgana had once claimed.

 

“Ask Gaius,” Morgause said steadily again, no sympathy on her face. “He knows everything.”

 

And Arthur knew then with crushing clarity that it must be the truth, however much he wanted to deny it. Again, she wouldn’t suggest he go to Gaius unless she was entirely sure he’d back her story. He’d every reason not to and only one to do so - that it was the painful reality of what’d happened.

 

His heart seemed to clench viciously.

 

His father had put hundreds of innocents to death because he’d made a mistake he couldn’t face. He’d killed to hide his own guilt. A whole people…

 

Everything that’d been done against those of magic had been wrong.

 

Arthur stumbled from the hut and no one tried to stop him.

 

It was the oracle who came across him, nearly an hour later, sitting with his back against the trunk of a tree. His face was troubled and ashen, not that she could see that. Although the assured way she moved suggested that she saw more through those milky eyes than he would’ve thought.

 

“I am sorry,” she said, crouching down beside him and taking his hand in kindness. “I know it was not what you wished to hear.”

 

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted, looking at her - this stranger - wondering if she had any answers for him. To think what he’d grown up in, what he’d supported…It was all so wrong and the only thought spinning through his mind was that he had to put it right somehow. How could he ever make up for everything that’d been done though? For everything he’d done? The people of magic had been vicious too and he didn’t agree with their methods but could he really claim he’d have acted any differently if he’d been in their shoes? They’d been attacked. Slaughtered. Was it any wonder they hated him so much? That even his own sister hated him?

 

“Don’t try to do anything,” the oracle reasoned. “The past is there to be learnt from, that’s why I reveal it, in hope that the same mistakes will not be made again. Make up your mind as to what man you want to be. Move out of your father’s shadow and leave him behind. He loved you greatly Arthur, and the best you can do for him now is to forget him. Don’t wallow in his crimes, don’t think you need to ruin his memory with them. Nothing will be solved that way. Just let him go. Be your own man entirely.”

 

Arthur didn’t know how easy that would be - sound advice as it was - but he nodded. Maybe the only thing he could do was start again. This was too much to put right and he couldn’t spend his life making amends for his father’s mistakes.

 

“Is there anything else I should know?” he asked quietly, needing more time to think this particular issue through.

 

“Some things,” she admitted. “But the secrets of the dead cannot harm them. I do not reveal the secrets of the living. That is their providence. Just know that those around you only wish to help you now. You will be a great King.”

 

He smiled wryly, the expression not reaching his eyes. “I thought you said you weren’t allowed to reveal the future?”

 

She smiled back. “Call it intuition.”

 

**********************

 

Back at camp, Merlin listened to everything Arthur confessed with trepidation. He kept glancing to Morgause, the other woman having returned to Morgana’s side. Arthur’s half sisters. Merlin felt that somehow he should’ve known.

 

Most of his focus was on Arthur though, watching the other man’s reaction carefully. This had to be a hard blow for him, finding out the truth of his birth on top of everything else. Yet he seemed oddly…together.

 

“What are you going to do?” he asked quietly, when Arthur had finished.

 

“I don’t know, I need to think.” He hesitated. “Although I do now know what Agravaine had against me.”

 

“No one blames you for what happened to your mother.”

 

“No, but I’m here instead of her. And my uncle Tristian died fighting my father. He said it was because Tristian was crazed with grief but…he must have known. That’s why Agravaine hated me so much; his brother and sister died because of me.”

 

“He hated Uther, not you.”

 

Arthur smiled at him briefly, seeing that Merlin was trying to make him feel better and grateful for it even if it didn’t work. Then he frowned a little as a memory resurfaced.

 

“You said it wasn’t true, back when we first met Morgause. What she said about my father. That that wasn’t really my mother.”

 

Merlin felt his heart beat faster but he kept his face calm. He was practised at lying now. “I’m sorry, I thought it couldn’t be but…”

 

Arthur accepted that with a simple nod. “It’s all right. None of us knew. Except Gaius, apparently.”

 

Merlin instantly looked worried, not wanting Gaius to take the sole blame for this. “I’m sure he was only trying to protect you.”

 

“I know,” Arthur reassured.

 

There was silence between them.

 

“So what are you going to do now?” Merlin eventually asked.

 

“Think,” Arthur said stoically.

 

Merlin smiled, bringing a much needed levity to the moment. At least it seemed this news wasn’t going to send Arthur into the downward spiral he’d feared. And perhaps it could even be encouraging. If Arthur understood that the people of magic had been attacked first then maybe he’d agree that magic wasn’t just inherently bad…

 

“Well, try not to hurt yourself.”

 

Much to his delight for once, Arthur glared.

 

**********************

 

“Where have you been?” Merlin demanded, when Gaius finally returned to his work room.

 

After their arrival, Merlin had been charged with his normal duties - Morgana and Morgause allowed to return to their chambers without guards, much to the concern of the knights, Arthur going to seek out Gwen - and it’d been several hours before he could hurry in to talk to Gaius about what’d happened. Finding him absent was both annoying and worrying.

 

“I was summoned to see the King,” Gaius said pointedly.

 

Merlin felt his breath catch uneasily. “What did you say?”

 

“I confirmed what he already knew - about the magic that led to his birth and the fact that Morgause is his half-sister.”

 

“How did he take it?”

 

“Calmly.”

 

“He wasn’t angry at you?”

 

“No. He said he understood my reasons but may wish to talk to me again later.”

 

Merlin sighed, letting out a breath, supposing he couldn’t have hoped for more. That relief out of the way, he moved on to what was firstly bothering him.

 

“You didn’t tell me either, you know; about Morgause.”

 

Gaius shrugged as he sat down, more weight seeming to be on his shoulders rather than less. “It didn’t seem very important. Neither of them knew their mother and she’d no claim to throne via Igraine. I didn’t want to confuse matters further.”

 

“She could’ve used it against him.”

 

“Arthur was never going to change his mind about someone simply because she sudden reveals she’s his sister.”

 

Merlin arched an eyebrow at that.

 

“Morgana’s different,” Gaius dismissed. “He’s known her all his life, she was already like a sister to him, even before he knew.”

 

Merlin mused. “And to think we all believed he fancied her once…”

 

Gaius smiled a little. “Even Uther wouldn’t have allowed that.”

 

Probably not anyway.

 

“How did Arthur seem?” Merlin asked. “He was…a bit too calm when he told me.”

 

Gaius nodded, understanding that fear. It almost seemed to herald an oncoming storm. “He was troubled. He said he wanted some time alone to think.”

 

Merlin bit his lip, nodding his head thoughtfully. The waiting was agonising.

 

“This could all work out well,” Gaius pressed in comfort. “At least he knows now, he’s seen that magic was wronged back then. Perhaps this is exactly what he needed to help him move forward.”

 

“I want Arthur to see magic isn’t all bad as much as anyone,” Merlin reasoned. “More than anyone.  But I’m still not sure this is the right way. And what if Morgause has more influence on him now? I still don’t trust her.”

 

Gaius smiled and it was hard to tell if it was in pride or amusement.

 

“I know, but she’s been as good as her word so far and, the fact of the matter is, she must return to the Isle. If things are as bad there as they were before-”

 

“Worse,” Merlin confirmed.

 

Gaius nodded. “Then she’ll be far too busy to worry about Arthur. She’ll simply want to ensure Camelot isn’t a threat to them.”

 

“And what if she’s rebuilding the Isle so they can be a threat to Camelot?”

 

Gaius looked at him softly. “Their magic wasn’t always like that. It was peaceful. There were bad and good of course but no more than in any other people. I hope we can return to that now.”

 

He clearly had more faith than Merlin did. Which was odd because Merlin didn’t remember being so cynical.

 

He thought of Morgana then, of what Kilgharrah had confessed. She was one who’d turned his heart harder, he understood that much. He’d almost considered going to talk to her since their return and explaining everything he’d been told, but there seemed no point. That bridge was long burnt. He was not like them.

 

Just like Morgause had said.

 

**********************

 

“You wanted Merlin to reveal his powers, didn’t you?” Morgause said quietly, stroking Morgana’s hair as they lay together. “That’s why you attacked Arthur and Guinevere.”

 

Morgana was dressed in Morgause’s night shirt, since it fitted far better than the cloak had. They’d get her some new clothes come morning.

 

“Yes.”

 

“It’s why Mordred didn’t fight harder to retrieve you too,” Morgause continued. “He wants Merlin out in the open. He wants him to stop hiding and use his powers fully.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“But he didn’t tell you any of this.”

 

Morgana lifted her head slightly to look up at her.

 

“No. I just…I know now.”

 

Morgause nodded. “The spell has released you and you see the truth.”

 

“Why did you stop him from doing so?” Morgana asked with a slight frown. “Merlin, I mean. Arthur and Gwen would have seen what he really is…”

 

Despite her new found peace, she apparently couldn’t feel anything but derision for Merlin. And Morgause understood that; his betrayal was the worst of all of them. He wasn’t ignorant like the others had been.

 

“I have no love for that traitorous boy, you know that. But I won’t see you hurt in someone else’s quest. Not again.”

 

It took Morgana a moment to realise what she was saying and then she shook her head in clear denial.

 

“It was my quest too. Ours. Always.”

 

Morgause had been the one to lead her on it though, failing to see the fragility in Morgana’s heart. Failing to see what she needed more than strength and power.

 

“I have seen your loneliness,” Morgause said sadly as though she could ease that away, stroking Morgana’s cheek. “Your pain. It was so much clearer from the other side and I wished I could heal it.”

 

“You’re here now,” Morgana whispered softly, “that’s balm enough.”

 

Her kiss was gentle and slow but might have progressed to more if it weren’t for the knock at the door. They both sat up, Morgause going to open it. She wasn’t entirely surprised to see Gwen there.

 

There was material over her arm and, as she stepped inside, she held it out to reveal that it was a quite beautiful green dress. Entirely suitable for the King’s sister and a colour that seemed to belong to Morgana. It was a most thoughtful gesture.

 

“Arthur told me you’d need some new clothes,” Gwen explained. “I’ve never worn this one so I had my seamstress take it in to fit you.”

 

Morgana, much to Morgause’s surprise, looked very uncomfortable, shuffling in the bed to sit up properly and with stiff formality.

 

“That really isn’t necessary,” she assured uneasily.

 

“I think it is,” Morgause soothed, being peacemaker. “Unless you wish to wear my nightshirt about the castle.”

 

“I wasn’t planning on wandering the castle.”

 

Gwen seemed dismayed almost. Disappointed. “If it isn’t to your liking, I can bring you something else. Really, Morgana, it’s no trouble. We want you to be comfortable.”

 

But it was very clear that she was anything but right now. Only Morgause’s pointed look got her to nod in acceptance.

 

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

 

Morgause took the dress from Gwen. “It was a most kind gesture,” she placated. “My sister is tired and things are difficult…”

 

Gwen nodded. “I…hope to see her when she’s feeling better.”

 

She gave Morgana a quick smile and left.

 

Morgause lay the dress on the back of the chair and returned to the bed, giving Morgana a look that was only mildly scolding.

 

“That was a little rude,” she reasoned. “She was only trying to be gracious.”

 

“Which was very nice of her,” Morgana pointed out, “considering the last time I saw her, I was trying to kill her.”

 

Suddenly Morgause understood Morgana’s discomfort. Not guilt exactly but…uncertainty. She had no idea where she stood any more.

 

“You think they all hate you,” Morgause guessed. She knew Morgana too well and, despite her inevitable protests otherwise, she’d a strong desire to simply be loved. She needed other people, needed their affection, and sometimes that made her push it away simply through the fear of losing it again. She didn’t want to be hated, not really.

 

“Why wouldn’t they?” Morgana asked, a bitterness to her voice. “They should, after everything that’s happened. I don’t want to live in the shadow of that, feeling like I have to make it up to them the entire time.”

 

Or, more likely, she didn’t want to feel like she was living amongst those who were only pretending to love her again. Perhaps in the future, those feelings could be eased but it was too soon at the moment.

 

Morgause took her hands.

 

“You won’t. We can leave in the morning if it’s what you wish.”

 

Morgana was quiet and thoughtful.

 

“I do. But I need to talk to Arthur first.”


	15. Chapter 15

“It wasn’t worth it,” Arthur said quietly, looking out at the dark citadel below him.

 

Merlin, who’d been clearing the dinner things away, almost dropped them as he spoke. Arthur had been unusually quiet for days, deep in his own thoughts and had only spoken to him to give short orders, so this sudden ‘confession’ came out of the blue. Composing himself a bit, Merlin put the plates down but made no move to get closer. Giving Arthur the space he’d needed to work this through himself.

 

“What wasn’t?”

 

“All the lives lost, to uphold my father’s laws. That’s the crux of it, isn’t it? My mother’s death was tragedy and my father didn’t knowingly kill her but he caused everything that came after that.”

 

“He was grieving,” Merlin soothed. He’d no real desire to defend Uther but he wanted to protect Arthur. As always.

 

“He was feeling guilty,” Arthur corrected. “And he had hundreds to put to death and started a war instead of facing that.” He shook his head in dismay. “The people of magic haven’t exactly been blameless - they tried to kill in revenge which isn’t any better - but they were attacked first. I have to openly recognise that, even if it ruins my father’s name.”

 

“You don’t have to tell anyone, Arthur. You only ever did what you were taught was right. Just…start afresh if you want.”

 

“I can’t make a peace with my enemies that’s built upon a lie,” Arthur reasoned, turning to him. “They wouldn’t accept that and the people should know what happened and why I want this kingdom to be better. I can’t build a new Camelot on old grudges and half truths.” He took a deep breath that seemed almost like preparation. “There will be no more lies, even if it destroys any respect the people have for my father. If they call him ‘tyrant’ or ‘murderer’…maybe he deserves it. His reputation isn’t more important than making a better future. And I have to prove that I’m a better man.”

 

Merlin smiled, trying and failing to prevent it becoming too broad as his heart swelled with pride.

 

“You always were.”

 

He ignored the voice that told him firmly there was still one lie left.

 

**********************

 

“No guards and not even armed. This is brave.”

 

Morgana was sitting at the end of a long table, waiting for him in a room that even he didn’t know the use for. He supposed that was why she’d chosen it - it meant nothing to either of them and was as close to neutral ground as they could get in Camelot. He’d been surprised when he’d received the message that Morgana wanted to talk to him. He’d expected that the first move would have to be his and he’d been waiting only to give her time to recover. Yet, she’d ‘summoned’ him first. She always was surprising him.

 

Her tone now was slightly mocking, but more like the her of old - teasing and prodding him - than the enemy he’d come to know.

 

“I’ve been assured,” he replied simply, walking across, leaning back against the dresser rather than sitting with her, “that you’ve given up on the idea of trying to kill me.”

 

“It’s counterproductive,” she replied.

 

Not exactly an open apology then.

 

He studied her carefully for a moment. She looked better in his opinion, dressed in green and with smooth, well brushed hair. Almost like her old self - even down to the dark rings under her eyes - if it hadn’t been for the distrust still evident in her manner. She was clearly uneasy with him underneath her front, fingers clasped together tightly in front of her. She looked at him with caution, as though she really did want to believe him but found it dangerous to do so. That wariness was both saddening to him and an affront. He had just as much reason to be wary of her.

 

“You killed a lot of innocent people, Morgana,” he pointed out steadily. Admittedly not the smoothest start, but a very pertinent point.

 

She didn’t seem offended.

 

“So did you.”

 

True. Very much their father’s children then.

 

Arthur sighed but didn’t argue. “Neither of us were right.”

 

“Speak for yourself,” she huffed.

 

He glared at her. This really was like their conversations of old. Except the veneer of malice between them wasn’t just a front any more. This really was going to take a long time to repair.

 

“I know what my father did was wrong,” he admitted. It took him a lot to do so, instinct inside him still fighting against it.

 

“Our father,” she corrected him quietly. She didn’t look happy at the fact at all and that upset him a little.

 

“Our father,” he acknowledged before continuing. “He should never have attacked the people of magic like he did. It was unjust. But it doesn’t make what you’ve done right either.”

 

“I was protecting myself. My people.”

 

“I would have protected you,” he said, sharper than he meant to, betraying the hurt that came from her not trusting him to do just that. When, after all, had he ever let her down?

 

“Really?” she asked, looking up at him in challenge. “Even if you’d found out what I was? You stood by and let Uther lock me up for merely disagreeing with him, I couldn’t imagine what you’d do if you found out I had magic.” She seemed near sullen, brooding. “Besides, you told me remember? That if I angered him again you might not be able to help me. You made your position quite clear.”

 

It took him a moment to remember what she was talking about and then he was silent. He’d pushed those memories aside long ago, dismissing it as a bad time full of disagreements that’d been overcome. He’d no idea that it’d affected her so deeply. That she’d truly taken those words to heart.

 

“It would’ve been different, Morgana. If your life was at stake…”

 

“Would it? Or would you have just dismissed me as another evil sorceress? You could’ve reasoned to yourself that that was why I was so against your father in a manner you didn’t approve of.”

 

She was bitter and Arthur’s chest grew tight. He knew they’d had their disagreements in the past and certainly didn’t always see eye to eye on things, but he’d never considered that was what she thought of it. That the faith she’d once shown in him had been so broken, so quickly.

 

“Morgana,” he said solemnly, not excusing himself nor showing her up as wrong, but trying to give them a better footing to move on from. “I swear to you, I never would’ve let anything happen to you. I would’ve raised a sword to Uther himself had he tried to hurt you.”

 

It took her a long, tense moment to accept that and, when she did, he saw her visibly swallow hard at that, eyes reddening, breath shaky. Relieved? Or simply upset that she hadn’t been able to believe that before things had gone so badly wrong.

 

“I was safe with the druids,” she said quietly, “until you came.”

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered quietly. He truly was for that, for both their sake and hers. It’d been badly done all round and he regretted it deeply. “I wish I’d known.”

 

She looked away, down at the table rather than him. Preparing for a confession that she couldn’t make to his face. “I was told all my life that magic was evil. That it corrupted your soul. We both were.”

 

Perhaps in a more cynical mind he thought that she was indeed living proof of that. But, he counselled inside, was it magic that’d turned her into what she’d become? Or Uther’s hatred and the fear of his retribution?

 

“There was a man amongst the druids,” she continued. “Aglaine. He told me differently.”

 

Oddly, and somewhat amusingly, a sudden protective urge washed over him. Who was this Aglaine? Had he charmed her? Kissed her? It made Arthur smile a little at himself. Oh yes, very brotherly.

 

Morgana saw that smile and thought the worst of it.

 

“It’s not funny!” she protested hotly.

 

Arthur quickly smoothed his expression. “I wasn’t laughing at that, I swear.”

 

Cautiously, he came and sat down.

 

“It hurt a lot you know,” more open and honest than was usually his way, thinking it was time for a confession of his own, “when I found out that you’d turned on us. On me.”

 

She still didn’t look at him.

 

“Now you know how it felt when Camelot turned its back on me.”

 

“It didn’t though. You didn’t give us a chance.”

 

“Camelot turned its back on me the moment it knew I had magic. If I’d given you a chance, I would’ve end up on a pyre.”

 

Arthur shook his head sadly., knowing it would take a long time to really convince her otherwise. Maybe he never would.

 

“It hurts,” he said quietly, “that you didn’t trust me. I’ve always loved you, Morgana, I valued you, your opinion and your companionship. Nothing has hurt more than being at odds with you.”

 

Finally, her eyes glanced up again. Cautious still.

 

“I want to work towards peace now, if that’s possible,” Arthur assured her when she didn’t speak, her look expectant. “I want to make amends. But you must do the same, agreed?”

 

She looked deeply thoughtful for a long moment.

 

“Make the first move,” she suddenly commanded, standing up. “Give me more than words and I’ll give you something in return. Maybe we can both be better people than our father.” She moved away, hesitating just a moment and looking slightly back. “Brother…”

 

She left Arthur with a renewed sense of hope; it wouldn’t be easy but he would fix this all.

 

Outside, Merlin was waiting, leaning against the wall. He watched her with hawk’s eyes as she left and she’d all but gone passed him, ignoring him entirely, before something got the better of her. Whatever truce she could come to with Arthur - he was an idiot and could be a heartless oaf and yet she believed his intentions were genuine - she knew in an instant that would never extend to Merlin. Even the mere sight of him sent her blood raging.

 

Arthur and Gwen she’d feared would betray her. Merlin had. He’d tried to murder her in cold blood and nothing he could ever say would make up for that.

 

“Don’t worry,” she said, caustically, “he’s not dead. I’ve lost the desire to kill him. You, however, are not so fortunate.”

 

The malice there was clear and the worried look on his face - the fact that he clearly didn’t trust her and she held power over him - brightened her day considerably.

 

**********************

 

There hadn’t been such an assembly in the kingdom since Gwen’s coronation, but the banners of Camelot were set proudly in the throne room now and every important person and dignitary had been summoned with haste. The King was to make an announcement, the heralds ready to spread the news throughout the kingdom.

 

He entered with Gwen at his side, holding her hand delicately as they walked to the dais under fanfare. He nodded at Morgana and Morgause, both given a place of honour at the front of the assembly, both looking mildly perplexed as to what this was all about. He liked that. It was good not to be the one in the dark for once.

 

He showed Gwen to her seat, sitting on the throne himself as everyone else took their own seats again.

 

There was a hushed silence of expectation before he spoke. Gwen squeezed his hand, giving him strength. This was important, but it wouldn’t be easy and he needed her support. She’d given it without hesitation.

 

“People of Camelot,” he began, pleased that his voice stayed firm and clear, “long have our laws prohibited the use of magic. Laws, you were told were designed to protect you from its evil. I have come before you today to tell you that those laws are wrong. Unjust.”

 

As he expected, a murmuring arose and he waited for it to subside.

 

“My father used magic to help my mother conceive me, ignoring its laws and balances until the tragic consequences arose. Then, in his guilt, he reacted with condemnation towards those who did not deserve blame.”

 

The murmuring rose again, shocked faces barely concealed behind hands that were meant to muffle the whispers.

 

“I will not rule over a Camelot built upon lies or injustice,” he insisted firmly, silencing anyone who was still muttering. “Each man and woman in my kingdom will be judged on the merit of their actions, not the circumstances of their birth or being. From today, I abolish the laws on magic. It is no longer punishable by death to have it or consort with those who do. We all shall be condemned or praised by our actions alone, from this day forward.”

 

This time the murmuring didn’t stop - about the only person in the assembly who was quiet was Merlin, sharing a look of delighted surprise with Gaius - and eventually Sir Leon had to step forward and bellow for silence. Hardly dignified for such a great occasion, Arthur thought, but he’d expected something of a reaction. Gwen, the only person who he’d confided in, simply smiled at him in reassurance.

 

Arthur stood.

 

“As such, I have come to a peace accord with my half sisters - the Lady Morgana and the Lady Morgause.”

 

That little revelation actually sent everyone into utter silence.

 

Arthur walked down to them, taking both their hands and asking them to rise. He hoped they were approving, although at the moment they mostly looked suspicious and quite surprised.

 

“Lady Morgause,” he announced, “is my mother’s first child, taken from her under cruel circumstances. I am happy to have met her at last.” He looked at Morgana. “Lady Morgana and I have had our differences, but I hope we can now move forward in peace.”

 

Morgana looked at him steadily for a moment before nodding. He nodded in return and went back to the dais.

 

“I proclaim a new era of peace and cooperation in Camelot! Let this be our golden age!”

 

After a moment of dreadful silence - stunned rather than anything - Gwaine intervened.

 

“Long live the King!”

 

The shout went up over the room, more and more joining in every time. Next to him, Gwen stood also, kissing his cheek.

 

“Long live the King,” she smiled.

 

It took Arthur a long while to get to speak to Morgause as he wished. His sisters were keeping themselves to themselves as other people milled around the room, discussing things excitedly - including the celebratory feast Arthur had ordered for the evening - and Arthur was intercepted a dozen times on his way over to them. Finally, when he got there, Morgause nodded in greeting.

 

“It was well done,” she said, seeming impressed.

 

“Thank you,” he acknowledged before moving on to what he really wanted to say. “My father took a great many magical artifacts over the years and locked them in vaults in the lower levels of the castle. You’re welcome to have any you can make use of. They’re no good to us.”

 

It was a great gesture of trust and Morgause appreciated in, nodding in gratitude.

 

“That would be most kind.”

 

Arthur summoned a guard to show them there and Morgana, hesitating just a moment, touched Arthur’s arm before she left.

 

“I told you Mordred has been talking to King Lot,” she reminded him steadily. Pointedly.

 

Arthur frowned but nodded in understanding as Morgana led him aside a moment, Morgause waiting patiently for her.

 

“Lot has promised Mordred great riches should he assist the king in an attack on Camelot,” Morgana said hurriedly. “I think Mordred would do it for the satisfaction alone but with such reward…”

 

Arthur’s frown deepened further. “Why would Mordred want Camelot destroyed? After he hears about today…”

 

“You helped have his father captured and killed, and wiped out the druids he was living with,” she said bluntly. “Your speech today was pretty and will see no more unjust deaths - I hope - but there are plenty out there who bear deep grudges towards Camelot regardless. This won’t be the end of it.”

 

Arthur took a deep breath, nodding solemnly. He’d considered that, of course. He’d just hoped it wouldn’t prove a problem so soon.

 

“Thank you,” he said with open gratitude before hurrying off to speak to others.

 

Merlin, like a shadow, had followed Arthur and was watching them suspiciously. Or, more accurately, watching Morgana suspiciously.

 

With barely contained malice, she turned to him once Arthur was out of earshot. “Of course. you realise that it’s not Arthur that Mordred is interested in at all. It’s you. He’d do anything to get to you.”

 

She left that hanging, walking off after her sister.


	16. Chapter 16

The feast was lavish, befitting such a great occasion and, in all honesty, Gwen was relieved not to be the centre of attention for once. All eyes were on Morgana and Morgause tonight - curiosity mostly and suspicion from some, but the two sisters bore it well.

 

No, Gwen reminded herself, not sisters. Arthur’s sisters, yes, but not related to each other. She had a strong suspicion about what their relationship truly was but it gave her little pause for thought. If it made them happy - made Morgana happy - then it was no business of hers to judge. She’d always known somehow that Morgana was not the conventional marrying kind.

 

Gwen had been trying to talk properly to Morgana for days, offering her peace and perhaps even a blossom of friendship. It hadn’t exactly been poorly received but nor had it been welcomed with opened arms. That wasn’t entirely a surprise; Morgana was both stubborn and a slave to her emotions, neither of which would make repairing the broken affection between them easy. Gwen doubted that it could ever be fully resolved, but she felt better about things now she had some measure of understanding about what’d happened. Arthur had explained a lot - what he’d been told and what he’d seen - and much had fallen into place. Gwen had known the Morgana of Camelot better than anyone else and, as soon as she’d found out what the other woman had come to believe, her path and actions seemed suddenly easier to reason.

 

Not that Gwen agreed with them, of course. Morgana had misjudged those around her, painfully and insultingly so, and had done some terrible things as a consequence. But even so Gwen couldn’t dismiss her empathy. She knew herself what it was to feel helpless and fear for your life, and she may dislike what Morgana had done but she’d much sympathy for what she’d gone through before and since. There was pain beneath that hate and Morgana hadn’t been the sole cause of it. The best thing everyone could do now was try to draw a line and start anew. Many, Gwen knew, wouldn’t be so forgiving but she was realistic. It was better for them to all to forgive and live in peace than to continue in recrimination.

 

With a smile - not too familiar but friendly enough - Gwen stepped up to Morgana as Morgause moved away for a moment.

 

“I hope you can see that Arthur really does want this new future,” she said, kindly, trying to instill hope. “He was very disturbed by everything he learnt about his father. We all were.”

 

“The truth’s hard,” Morgana said, her tone not exactly soft. There was a wariness about her more than anything though. Uncertainty. And well there might be; last time they’d met she’d held a sword to Gwen’s throat. Before that, Gwen had been her servant. Now she was Queen and Morgana was a powerful sorceress. It was hard to know exactly how they should be towards one another, both trying out this new state of affairs.

 

Gwen just tried to remember them once being the best of friends.

 

“For us all,” she agreed sagely. Morgana had learnt some hard truths herself about her own mistakes although Gwen doubted she would ever admit them. Arthur certainly had the upper hand there. His pride wasn’t so absolute. “I heard you’re leaving tomorrow?”

 

Morgana nodded. “We can’t delay. Morgause says the Isle is in desperate need of our help.”

 

“Well, if there’s anything we can do…” The offer might be pointless but Gwen wanted to make it as a gesture of good will.

 

Morgana nodded again. “You’ve been most kind.”

 

She was wearing the dress Gwen had brought for her which seemed a good sign and so Gwen decided to push a little more.

 

“I do wish you could stay,” she said gently. “You’re the King’s sister, you grew up here. Things have been…difficult, but there’s a place here for you if you want it.”

 

She knew Morgana wouldn’t, all the memories here too raw, but she wanted her to hear it. Wanted her to know that they’d be happy if she took the offer.

 

“Thank you, but we have much work to do.”

 

“Then do tell us how you progress,” Gwen insisted.

 

After a brief moment of hesitation, Morgana nodded. Was that the hint of a smile on her lips?

 

**********************

 

Merlin should be enjoying this evening far more than he was. Magic was no longer illegal in Camelot, he was free and yet… Well, nothing was easy still.

 

Even now, how could he reveal who he was to Arthur? He’d spent so many years wishing for this day to come - the day that he could stop hiding - but now it was here he realised he’d entirely neglected to plan how he would do it. It wasn’t exactly something you could reveal casually over breakfast - ‘by the way, I’m a sorcerer. More toast?’ - but nor did he want it to become a big issue between them, even if his mind insisted that it couldn’t be anything else. The truth was he’d been lying to Arthur for the better part of six years and he could only imagine the damage this would do to the friendship between them. Arthur had suffered enough betrayal and he wouldn’t take this well.

 

Which made Merlin think that perhaps he just shouldn’t tell him at all.

 

He didn’t like the idea of lying to Arthur forever, but at the same time maybe it was for the best. After all, as he’d told himself recently, he was probably far better protection to Arthur if he worked in secret. It gave Merlin an advantage that perhaps he shouldn’t surrender so easily. And yet if he didn’t tell Arthur now, would he ever be able to do it? The conflict was already giving him a headache.

 

Just as troubling was the continued presence of Morgana. He was trying - truly so in the light of Kilgharrah’s revelation - to trust her and yet his gut entirely rebelled at the idea. He knew how spiteful and vindictive she could be and he definitely wouldn’t put it beyond her to lash out in a moment of anger. Particularly after how she’d spoken to him. That was why he kept watching her, wary and suspicious, knowing he’d be very relieved when she left the next day.

 

She was talking to Gwen at the moment, seeming closed and hesitant, but not openly hostile for once. That was change at least, but it didn’t stop him keeping an eye on her. Something that apparently hadn’t gone unnoticed as he discovered when she passed him on the way out.

 

“This is getting really tiresome, Merlin,” she snapped at him as though insulted.

 

He didn’t care.

 

“That’s all right,” he said with a forced jovial manner. “You’ll not be here after tomorrow.”

 

Morgana glared. “Yes. Fortunately for you.”

 

She glared at him with loathing but said nothing more, sweeping away like a fury.

 

Oh yes, he’d feel much better when she was a long way away.

 

**********************

 

Morgause had stayed at the feast only for as long as it felt politely necessary before excusing herself, wanting to investigate the items that Arthur had offered. Feasts - even of this magnitude - were little more than an obligatory boredom but what he’d given them was truly an exciting prospect. Such items of magic could be most useful on their quest.

 

She wasn’t surprised when Morgana shortly joined her in the lower levels. Morgause had told her to stay and mingle with the guests, pleased that Gwen had come to speak to her, but she knew that Morgana’s comfort with the situation would only last so long. Still, that was fine. She didn’t have to like these people, just banish her own demons enough to be capable of working with them if necessary. Although that perhaps hadn’t gone as well as she’d hope if the look on Morgana’s face was anything to go by.

 

“You seem vexed…” Morgause pointed out as Morgana all but stormed up to her.

 

“Merlin,” she spat out in a twisted, vicious tone. She really did hate the boy and whilst Morgause believed she had good reason, she didn’t exactly want to encourage it. It could be destructive.

 

“He is vexing,” Morgause agreed, her tone soothing. “But you will only have to put up with him for a few days more.”

 

Morgana looked at her sharply. “A few days?”

 

“Forgive me,” Morgause pleaded softly, asking for her indulgence. “But there are great many more items here than I had anticipated. I must have time to look through them all. Some may prove vital assistance in our quest.”

 

Morgana huffed, folding her arms, looking far from happy. But she nodded all the same.

 

“Thank you,” Morgause said, kissing her cheek. “Now why don’t you return to our rooms and rest? You look tired.” And far better there than back at the feast being wound into anger by Merlin. “I’m just going to secure these items and then I’ll join you shortly.”

 

Morgana was surprisingly obedient, at least on the surface. In fact, she didn’t return to their temporary rooms at all. Another room drew her in: her old chambers. She hadn’t really meant to go there but as soon as the idea had come into her head, she couldn’t shake it and had been dragged along almost automatically by her own feet. She just wanted to see it, she told herself.

 

It wasn’t very far from the guest room they currently occupied and there were no guards to stop her. She wasn’t even sure why she wanted to see it so much, only that she was drawn there despite a wary voice telling her that it was nothing but bad memories. Besides, it’d probably been long since cleared.

 

It hadn’t. As she opened the door, expecting to see it all but bare and unrecognisable, she was instantly transported back to a time long passed. Or which seemed long past even if it was little more than a year ago. Nothing had been touched since she’d last left - the bed made perhaps, some errant clothes put away, but beyond that everything was just how she remembered.

 

It almost made her run away.

 

Instead, she slowly stepped inside. Like a ghost haunting the halls it’d once wandered so freely in life. Except, she realised, she was the one being haunted, by every memory this place held.

 

And Goddess, some of them were actually good. Her fingers ran over the table top, remembering the marks and scars in it. Remembering how she’d dined here with Gwen, the pair of them laughing and gossipping. Her berating Arthur acting like a fool and Gwen laughing at her clever, teasing words. She remembered getting ready for feasts behind that screen, deciding upon what dress to wear and revelling in the one power she’d had back then - her ability to manipulate men with her beauty.

 

She didn’t look at the bed, knowing it would only remind her of her dreams and that was not something she wished to recall right now.

 

On the dresser, oddly out of place, sat a dagger. A beautiful piece with a jewelled hilt - rubies as red as the colour she’d worn on her lips. Arthur had brought it for her, presenting it to her on her birthday not long after she’d returned. She’d been surprised, expecting he’d just buy her jewellery as he usually did and shocked that he’d picked something far more to her taste. Also thinking him a fool for arming her further although her hate had mostly been aimed at Uther then, in that time before she found out about the deceased king’s despicable secret. That she was his despicable secret.

 

She picked the dagger up, the cool metal familiar in her hands even though she’d only used it a few times. Arthur had been so relieved when she’d returned to Camelot, coming to see her constantly, checking if she was all right and actually speaking with open emotion for once. He’d told her how worried he’d been, how glad he was that she hadn’t been hurt. How happy he was to have her home.

 

At the time she’d dismissed those words as lies - he’d only thought that because he didn’t know she was a sorceress and if he did he’d as soon have restrained her in chains than take her into an embrace. Now though, he kept telling her that that wasn’t true and he was so earnest in his insistence that she wanted to believe him even if she was terrified to do so.

 

Tears burned her eyes as she left the room, the dagger still firmly clutched in her hand.

 

**********************

 

He definitely should have drunk a little less wine, Arthur concluded as he sipped on the fruit concoction that Merlin poured for him. His head was utterly pounding but, from the look of the other knights gathered, none of them had fared much better.

 

Still, he’d called this meeting as a matter of urgency. He hadn’t wanted to postpone the previous day's celebration - it was important the people saw he was entirely serious with his declaration of peace - but he didn’t want to waylay discussing this increasingly pressing problem much longer; what would they do about Lot.

 

“His attack on the castle was bold enough,” Sir Leon was saying, “but this new threat is all but a declaration of war. We can’t just leave it unchecked.”

 

“We don’t know exactly what he’s doing,” Arthur reasoned. “We know there might be an alliance not if it’s happened or what Mordred has actually offered him. I can’t go into a war so unprepared. Nor do we want a war.”

 

“We don’t?” Percival asked.

 

Arthur looked at him unwaveringly. “People die in war. The Knights of Camelot were meant to keep the peace, not shatter it.”

 

His father had been an aggressor in his youth, taking Camelot by force and using the power he amassed there to make other lords swear fealty to him. In his later years he’d lost the taste for it though, happy to maintain his lands rather than extend them, and Arthur didn’t want to be seen as returning to the old ways. He was determined to be better all round and wouldn’t become an aggressor on hearsay alone. It would be reckless and foolish.

 

“Maybe an emissary or two?” Elyan suggested thoughtfully. “To take words of treaty to Lot. Say we’re willing to overlook his previous incursions for the sake of future peace. I’d happily go, Sire.”

 

Arthur could see the thought behind that. It’d be a more subtle way of telling Lot that they’d caught wind of his plotting and would allow him to back down without losing face. Important when dealing with such brutally proud men. But, there was still an inherent problem in an idea.

 

“It’s a fine suggestion but I suspect he won’t take it well. He’d likely kill any emissary as a message to Camelot and I won’t risk anyone’s lives like that.” Least of all Elyan’s; Gwen would never forgive him.

 

“Perhaps something…less honest then?” Gwaine chipped in.

 

“Spies?”

 

“Why not?”

 

Arthur thought on it. A good idea maybe, but risky still.

 

“He’ll be on the look out for spies after what happened,” the King said with a troubled frown. “And if catches you…”

 

Yet he was struggling to think of any alternative.

 

The heavy double doors opened without warning, Morgana striding in. Arthur could immediately see from her manner - the assurance in her walk, her head held high - that she seemed to have regained some measure of the confidence that’d been missing in the past few days. He hoped that was a good thing.

 

The knights shared looks amongst themselves but it was Geoffrey - acting as notary - who spoke, blustering in indignation at the break of protocol.

 

“This is the King’s Council and you are uninvited,” he stammered, most put out.

 

Morgana arched an eyebrow but Arthur held up a placating hand.

 

“She’s my sister,” he said, looking steadily at Morgana. “She’s welcome if she thinks she can help.”

 

A challenge to make this interruption a good one.

 

“You need to discover what Lot’s intentions are without one of your knights losing his head,” she said bluntly.

 

“How do you know?”

 

She gave him a sarcastic look. “I don’t need to press my ear against a door to eavesdrop, Arthur.”

 

Geoffrey grumbled under his breath again at her manner. Although in all honesty, even if had nothing had happened between them, Arthur suspected that she’d still talk to him with the same air of mild disdain, king or not. It was just how they were.

 

It was oddly comforting.

 

“You think you can help?” he pressed, remaining calm. He wouldn’t rise to her bait out of old habit.

 

She nodded. “A favour - in light of your announcement yesterday. I can send a bird with a message to Lot.”

 

Geoffrey snorted, his manners forgotten in the face of her lacking them.

 

“Birds? We gave up using messenger birds nearly a century ago. Far too unreliable!”

 

Morgana’s look of disdain was far more pronounced now, making Arthur believe that the one she’d shown him was little more than an act and this was the genuine article.

 

“Who says I’m going to be using any old pigeon?”

 

**********************

 

Arthur had been surprisingly keen to accept her offer of help. Morgana had honestly expected distrust or outright refusal, but instead he’d simply thanked her and left her to get on with it. He’d even let her write the note herself after explaining roughly what he wished to say.

 

A part of her really wanted to call him a fool for trusting her so easily - even though she’d no plans to cross him - and another part didn’t even believe that he did, thinking it was all a mask for the sake of politics but that deep down he hated her still. The rest of her, admittedly the smallest part of the three, hoped that they might actually be able to exist like this; offering the occasional help where needed and being cordial enough for a shadow of friendship. In an odd almost possessive way she’d far rather him rely on her magic than be a slave to Merlin’s.

 

Merlin who, it was quite clear, didn’t follow his master’s lead; he still didn’t trust her at all. His presence was so annoying in fact  - his glares and pointed looks an insulting affront - that it made her more eager to leave than ever. If it weren’t for him she’d actually be content enough to remain here for a short while. As it was though all she saw was his self-righteous superiority, manifesting in his distrust and it riled her greatly. Well, that and the face of the man who’d lied to her and murdered her. None of those remembrances were healthy and she suspected that if she was going to fulfil her own destiny, she needed to be as far away from him as possible.

 

Even if the idea of allowing him to go ‘free’ burned a scar on her heart.

 

He intercepted her that evening as she was heading down the stairs to the courtyard. The eagle was waiting, perched on the battlements, ready for her summons and orders. She simply had to call him and attach the message she’d written.

 

Blocking her path, Merlin held his hand out.

 

“The message,” he demanded. “I need to see it.”

 

He actually didn’t look entirely comfortable with such an open accusation, like he knew he might be showing himself up. And yet that didn’t stop him asking her.

 

“Why?” she cooed sarcastically, purposely stalling to worry him. “Does the great Emrys not trust me?”

 

The name was always used as a mockery.

 

He didn’t answer that directly - thinking it was unnecessary? - and held out his hand. “The note Morgana.”

 

Slowly, a dangerous look in her eyes, she handed it across. He read it just as slowly, a frown on his face as he scanned every word with care. All he could read there was exactly what Arthur had wanted her to include.

 

When he handed it back to her, his face was stony.

 

“Satisfied now?” she bit.

 

“No,” he retorted. “Just know I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

 

Not a pleasant prospect.

 

“If you’re that concerned,” she taunted, “why don’t you take your suspicions to Arthur? I’m sure he’d still listen to a mere servant over his own blood.”

 

“I think he might listen to a servant over the woman who tried to kill him and take his throne.”

 

Her eyes flared with anger. “Don’t push me, Merlin.”

 

She moved fiercely passed him down the stairs, jaw set tightly. His words riled her but so did her own uncertainties; if it came to it, who would Arthur trust most out of the pair of them? And why did she even care all of a sudden?

 

**********************

 

“I just don’t trust her, Gaius.”

 

“Then speak to Arthur.”

 

“And say what? That I have a bad feeling? That I think she’s threatening again? We’ve seen her lie and manipulate him before and he wants to believe her so much. If I don’t have any evidence…”

 

Gaius sighed heavily, finally looking up from his work. Merlin had been putting voice to his fears about Morgana since breakfast without coming to any useful conclusions. Going round in circles more like. Gaius could appreciate his worries but he wasn’t entirely sure that they were founded in fact; Morgana had been as good as her word so far and even he’d seen the change in her, subtle as it was. He wondered if Merlin didn’t see it because he didn’t want to believe it. Maybe it was easier to believe that she was up to no good and that the direction he’d followed from the great dragon was right.

 

“Perhaps there isn’t any evidence to find,” Gaius suggested carefully.

 

Merlin didn’t look convinced.

 

“I don’t know what her agenda is,” he said stubbornly, “but she has one of her own, I’m sure. I just have to find out.”

 

“She’s leaving very soon,” Gaius tried to soothe. “We might not see her again for many years. Besides, it would make no sense for her to risk things now there’s a truce.”

 

“Yes, well she hasn’t always listened to sense…”

 

A grim determination set on Merlin’s lips as he weighed the choice up in his mind, but he only hesitated a moment before getting up and walking out with purpose. Gaius didn’t bother asking him where he was going. It was entirely obvious.

 

**********************

 

Merlin found her in one of the courtyard gardens, using his magic to trace her - her own powers were so strong now, they were like a beacon to him. Morgause’s presence was clear too but she was where she’d been for several days now; in the vaults, searching through the artifacts. Meanwhile, Morgana, he discovered, was keeping company with her brother.

 

That immediately put Merlin on edge and he moved closer to listen. Always checking, just in case.

 

“I do have a battle to prepare for,” Arthur was saying with a hint of exasperation. “Studying the roses isn’t really part of my strategy.”

 

“How optimistic of you, assuming there’s going to be a battle.”

 

“You think Lot will give up and go home?”

 

“You didn’t see how persuasive I was in my message.”

 

Arthur barked out a short laugh at that and things almost appeared to be how they once were between them. Then his face became a little more serious again.

 

“Why did you bring me here, Morgana?”

 

Moving closer still, Merlin kept himself concealed behind a stone column, but near enough to clearly make out the amused smile on her face.

 

“I went to my old rooms,” she said with a hint of coy interest that made Merlin worried. “I was surprised to see them untouched.”

 

Arthur looked down, biting the inside of his lip as though caught out. “I didn’t want to…face it,” he confessed quietly, voice colder again.

 

“What you’d lost?” she pressed.

 

“Who you used to be,” he said, glancing up, tone more stony.

 

She shrugged, no longer weak to his raking over their past. “It’s not someone I’m keen to go back to.”

 

Arthur looked saddened by that.

 

“But I didn’t bring it up to open old wounds,” she continued. “More a…fond remembrance.”

 

Somewhere from within the folds of her dress, she pulled out a knife and instantly Merlin went on high alert. Surely she wouldn’t? Not so blatantly? So bluntly? Although he certainly wouldn’t put it passed Morgana to kill Arthur with the knife that he’d gifted her. She liked such poetic ironies.

 

“Do you remember it?” she asked, holding up the delicately pointed blade, sunlight illuminating the edge.

 

“Your birthday…” he recalled solemnly.

 

“Your gift.”

 

“In hindsight, perhaps not the wisest choice. But if I will listen to Merlin…”

 

Morgana laughed. “Often a mistake, believe me.”

 

If that was meant to be an opening to ask more about his servant, Arthur didn’t take it. Instead, he sighed heavily, turning away.

 

“I’d like to have the opportunity to give you another birthday gift,” he said, somewhat awkwardly after a pause, still not very good at these emotional speeches. “Not that I’d know what to get you now but…well this all depends on you, Morgana. I am sorry for what happened to you, but I won’t beg your forgiveness. It’s not warranted.”

 

Merlin barely listened to the words. From his hiding place, his eyes were fixed on the knife.

 

The knife that Morgana was raising into a throwing position as Arthur’s back remained turned.

 

“I’m not asking for your forgiveness…”

 

Merlin reacted without thinking, hand held out as he muttered the spell with fierce precision. The knife left her fingers just before she flew back sharply and, too late, he realised that it hadn’t been aimed at Arthur at all, harmlessly hitting a tree instead.

 

That was unimportant though. Far more pressing was the fact that almost the same time he’d spoken the words, Merlin had felt her magic too, felt the solid column he was half leaning against fade as though it’d never been there at all.

 

She’d known he was there all along.

 

He tried to pull the magic back and down, to hide it, but he was at its mercy once it was unleashed and his eyes were still glowing golden as Morgana hit the ground.

 

Arthur was looking directly at him, shocked disbelief making his face slack.

 

Behind him, sitting up, Morgana shot Merlin a look of cruel victory; clearly her plan had unfolded perfectly.


	17. Chapter 17

The knife hadn’t just harmlessly hit a tree as Merlin had thought. As he stammered out an explanation to a still stunned Arthur, he very quickly told the king about the knife, about her throwing it at him. Not an excuse for him having magic but a reason for using it at least.

 

Morgana had that covered too though.

 

“I wasn’t throwing it at him! I was protecting him!” she said, feigning affront at the accusation.

 

“From a tree?” Merlin snapped back, somehow managing to focus on this point even though everything was about to implode around him. Like a condemned man arguing about the quality of his cell.

 

Glaring, Morgana marched to the tree and yanked the knife out, showing him the creature impaled upon the end of it.

 

“Young amphisbaena are quite poisonous before they grow their second head,” she reasoned sharply. “As a sorcerer you should know that.”

 

She’d clearly thought about this set up quite carefully, exposing him and making herself look good in the process; she’d saved Arthur and Merlin was a lying sorcerer. It’d worked out so well for her and he could almost applaud her cunning. She didn’t quite play it perfectly though, her act not foolproof when her voice held an undertone of torment beneath the false indignity. Merlin did the only thing he could; keep his dignity by not rising to the bait.

 

His silence also allowed him to come to a realisation.

 

“It was you,” he said with a frown of disgust.

 

She rolled her eyes, apparently not taking him seriously at all, believing she had the upper hand. Right now, she did.

 

“Oh, what was me this time, Merlin? Did I make you a sorcerer too?”

 

Yes, she was very much rubbing this in so Arthur was quite clear what’d been revealed. And obviously enjoying being on the ‘right’ side again for once.

 

“You sent those amphisbaena to attack that village!” Merlin accused, at least hoping to deflect any glory she wanted to gain out of this. He’d no proof but the link - finding the young of such a rare creature here - was too much of a coincidence.

 

“If you’ve been anywhere near these creatures,” she said with huffy derision, not dignifying his claim with a refuttal, “then you should’ve checked your bags more carefully for any young you’d unwittingly smuggled back.”

 

“Perhaps we should have checked your rooms more carefully,” he countered.

 

“Or was it wittingly?” she continued caustically, ignoring his words. “Perhaps we should check your rooms more carefully.”

 

Drawn by the raised voices, two guards had appeared and then stopped when they saw the scene, uncertain of whether to leave again or not.

 

“I’m not like you!” Merlin defended, old words but true.

 

“No, you’re a liar and a fraud,” she retorted with quite abundant disdain. “A man who’s hidden who he really is from the moment he came here. What was your plan, Merlin? To ingratiate your way into a position of power?”

 

“Not everyone thinks-”

 

“Enough!”

 

Arthur’s words came at last, silencing them both with the hard tone of it. His looked was entirely aimed at Merlin and there was nothing understanding in it. He stared at him for a very long moment, before he turned to the guards.

 

“Escort him to the council rooms,” he said quietly. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

 

Merlin opened his mouth to plead innocence as one of the guards took him by the arm and began to haul him off. But what could he say? There was no innocence to claim.

 

**********************

 

The wait felt like an age as Merlin stalked back and forth across the otherwise empty council chamber, his agitated footsteps echoing against the stone. He tried to quash his anger at Morgana - oh he was angry but he knew it wouldn’t help him right now - and instead focused on preparing himself for the explanation he was about to give. At least that’s what he was attempting to do, except he was very quickly coming to realise that he wasn’t prepared for this at all. All these years of waiting, all the hope about what this moment could mean for himself, and he’d no idea what to say. Certainly not when it’d been revealed like this. The best he could do was to answer Arthur’s questions truthfully and hope that it was enough.

 

Although as he saw the look on the other man’s face when the doors swung open and Arthur finally joined him, that hope faded a little. The anger in Arthur’s eyes was clear now, a fury Merlin recognised. Morgana and Uther had been capable of the same look too when they were consumed by the worst of their hard tempers.

 

Arthur strode across but didn’t fully meet him, keeping a distance as he stopped on the other side of the large, round table. His arms folded firmly across his chest and mouth set in a tight line. There was a long, uncomfortable silence before he spoke and Merlin had to just bear it. He knew he couldn’t be the one to say the first word. He wasn’t the injured party here.

 

“Why?” Arthur eventually asked, voice sounding strictly contained as though he was fighting to keep something more volatile in check. His gaze was direct but tinged with bewilderment. He really didn’t understand.

 

“Why?” Merlin queried quietly, not entirely sure what he meant by that. It was a question with a lot of potential meanings.

 

“Why did you lie to me?” Arthur said, maintaining his calm before finally throwing his hands up in exasperation as other questions came barrelling out. “Why have you been lying to me all these years? Why are you are sorcerer? Why did you even come here in the first place? Why have you been my servant?”

 

There were almost too many questions to ask and too many answers to give.

 

Merlin remained calm and quiet, deciding that a full explanation would be best. Or at least it would save Arthur having to keep asking all those questions like some sort of interrogation.

 

He told Arthur about how his mother had sent him here to work with Gaius, the old physician being someone she trusted to help Merlin with controlling his blossoming magic - there was no point in hiding Gaius’s part, Arthur would guess. He explained how he was warned to keep it a secret because of Camelot’s laws and what would happen to him if he was found out. He outlined how he’d saved Arthur at the feast and had really become his servant by accident rather than design. He certainly hadn’t planned it in some great conspiracy, whatever Morgana had claimed.

 

He didn’t tell him about the dragon. Part of him hated to lie to Arthur still but he couldn’t see any good coming from revealing that; Arthur only knew that dragon to be an attacker and he’d be unlikely to trust his word. In all honesty, Merlin wasn’t sure he entirely trusted it any more either.

 

“I was told a prophecy,” he explained more vaguely instead. “An old Druid prophecy. They call me Emrys and they said it was my destiny to help you secure Camelot and unite Albion.”

 

Arthur huffed out what might have been a laugh.

 

“Your destiny?”

 

He nodded, not taking offence at that. From Arthur’s point of view it probably did sound ludicrous when it was about what, until a short while ago, was his well meaning but bumbling servant.

 

“I believed them because I saw the potential you had to make Camelot better. I’ve been protecting you ever since Arthur. I just wanted to make sure you’d become the great king I knew you could be.”

 

 That probably sounded a bit like self serving flattery but it was true. Arthur was unimpressed though.

 

“Protecting me,” Arthur scoffed. “Like you would a child.”

 

“No, it wasn’t like that. There were just…some threats you couldn’t face.”

 

“Then how do I deserve to be king?” he snapped. On the surface, it looked as though his pride was wounded, but Merlin knew it was more than that. It was his faith in who he was that was shaken, causing him to wonder how much he’d really achieved for himself. It was something that Merlin had never considered but he knew at once he should have.

 

“Because you were the best man for it,” Merlin said steadily. “I want to make sure you got there.”

 

“By lying to me,” Arthur said flatly, apparently having no room right now for good intentions.

 

“I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t tell people who I was,” Merlin replied, trying to sound utterly reasonable. “If Uther knew…”

 

Arthur couldn’t argue with that, of course, but his arms folded tightly across his chest again.

 

“And what about if I knew?” he challenged. “What about telling me? Or did you think I’d instantly cut off your head too?”

 

Merlin blanched. On the back of Morgana’s distrust of him, he could see how this was a blow for Arthur too. How he might think that no one thought him worthy of trust.

 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Merlin tried to soothe, knowing it sounded far more awful when put so bluntly. “But you were so against magic back then and you didn’t know me that well…”

 

“And what about in the last year?” Arthur pressed, anger getting the better of him again. “What about since my coronation? Was it still so pressing to keep it a secret then?”

 

When Merlin didn’t answer, couldn’t answer, Arthur shook his head in disgust and turned away.

 

“Yes, so much for the great king, hmm? Even my own damn servant doesn’t trust me.”

 

Merlin was quiet. He hadn’t expected this reaction at all. He thought Arthur might be angry, which he was, but he was also hurt. And he had every right to be so, Merlin supposed, he just hadn’t prepared for how that would feel in return. He gave Arthur the moment of silence he needed and eventually the young king spoke again.

 

“You’ve lied to me,” he said quietly, not turning back to Merlin. “And you’ve made me look like a fool.”

 

“That wasn’t my intention,” Merlin pleaded, truly sorry if he thought that. “No one thinks that.”

 

“I’ve had a damn sorcerer living under my nose!” Arthur exploded, rounding on him, suddenly slamming his fist on the table in a way that had to hurt. “Making my bed and serving my bloody breakfast for the last six years, whilst I’m supposed to be upholding laws in a kingdom that has banned magic! Of course I’ve looked a fool! I trusted you Merlin and I didn’t even know you!”

 

The huff he let out was half growl as he viciously ran his hands back through his hair in sheer frustration.

 

“How many of my enemies have known this, hmm?” he challenged. “How many of them have realised that I’m too dense to figure out that the man at my side is a sorcerer? No wonder they keep attacking when they think I’m so damn stupid!”

 

Merlin shook his head steadily.

 

“No one knew. I was careful.”

 

Not that it made it much better, he supposed. It just made him a good liar.

 

“No one except Morgana,” Arthur pointed out sharply.

 

“She only found out recently,” Merlin confessed. “From Mordred.”

 

Arthur’s eyes widened a moment and then he looked to the ceiling throwing up his arms.

 

“Oh marvellous! No wonder he’s planning to attack then! He probably thinks he can destroy Camelot and its idiot king without breaking a sweat!”

 

Arthur began to pace, clearly highly agitated and Merlin was silent again. He’d no real right to ask the other man to calm down and Arthur had every right to air all his grievances. All Merlin could hope for was that they could move on from this.

 

Eventually Arthur stopped and looked at him once more, taking a deep breath to control his anger. He studied the other man for what felt like an age, looking him over as though he was seeing him for the first time. Gradually, the fight went out of him but it was replaced by something far more painful.

 

“I thought we were friends.”

 

“We were,” Merlin reasoned. “We are.”

 

If he hadn’t liked Arthur as more than a good ruler then he never would’ve done all this.

 

“No we’re not,” Arthur said, face screwing up at the suggestion. “I don’t know you. I know the act you put on.”

 

That hurt. Enough so Merlin couldn’t find an answer to it.

 

“What have I been?” Arthur asked, dismay on his face as he shook his head. “Your puppet? A means to making the kingdom you want?”

 

That was enough of an affront for Merlin to find the words to deny it without even thinking.

 

“No,” he said vehemently, stepping up to Arthur in a few quick paces. “You were - are - my friend and a good man. I only ever wanted to make sure that you got the future you deserved.”

 

Arthur looked at him steadily, silently, as though trying to decide what to do with him. Well, Merlin thought bitterly, at least he couldn’t execute him for sorcery now with the law change. Although, being king, he could all but do what he liked. Was lying to the king treason?

 

“I deserved better than this,” he eventually announced.

 

And took a step back, putting space between them.

 

“I’m not going to exile you,” Arthur decided, sounding horribly formal in tone. “With Lot on the warpath that would be dangerous.”

 

Merlin couldn’t help but wonder if Arthur meant it was dangerous for Merlin or if it was risky in case Merlin was caught and forced to give away vital information.

 

“But I don’t want to see you,” Arthur continued, trying to sound cold but unable to completely mask the pain in his voice. “Not now. Not for a while. You’re banned from court. The guards will be with you shortly and you take your things from Gaius’s rooms and go. I expect you to abide by my ruling, Merlin. If I find you’re using your magic to get around it, I won’t be so kind.”

 

He turned and left, giving Merlin no chance to change his mind.

 

**********************

 

Merlin couldn’t believe how hard his heart was beating for someone who felt so completely numb. He’d had a much longer wait than he would’ve thought before the guards came to fetch him. He dismissed the notion that Arthur had purposely left him there alone as a kind of punishment; he wasn’t that petty. Although the fact that Arthur now distrusted him enough to feel it necessary warn him about breaking his command was a painful testament to how badly things had been broken between them.

 

The guards saw him directly to Gaius’s rooms, waiting for him outside and telling him not to be long. They weren’t unkind but nor were they going to give him any leeway. Merlin was dismayed to find Gaius absent, desperate to talk to him, and he started packing as slowly as possible, hoping that Gaius would return before he was forced to go. Fortunately he didn’t have to wait long.

 

When he saw the grave, pained look on Gaius’s face he knew at once where he’d been.

 

“Arthur summoned you,” he guessed quietly, just praying that he hadn’t got Gaius into trouble alongside him. It wasn’t his fault, he was only trying to keep Merlin safe.

 

“He did,” Gaius nodded. “He’s warned me that if he finds out I’m holding any more secrets, Camelot will be looking for a new physician.”

 

Merlin nodded too. He couldn’t have hoped for much better. Gaius wasn’t a young man and it’d be exceptionally hard on him to be exiled. Arthur had likely realised that too.

 

Gaius just looked at him, a mixture of pity and worry in his eyes. This wasn’t what either of them had wanted or wished for. The sight of Merlin standing there, a packed bag of his things slung over his shoulder pained him greatly and he suddenly looked much older than his years.

 

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

 

Merlin hadn’t really come up with an answer to that until he was faced with the question. Then the response was obvious.

 

“I’m staying in Camelot,” he said resolutely. “Arthur might still need my help, even if he doesn’t want it. I won’t abandon him now.”

 

Gaius gave him a sad smile. He wouldn’t have expected anything else.

 

**********************

 

Morgana was waiting for him at the bottom of the tower staircase and it was all Merlin could do not to throw her through the nearest doorway.

 

If his mood had been fragile before it was even worse having just said goodbye to a clearly emotional Gaius. It wasn’t really a final goodbye, of course - Gaius was quite free to come and see him in the lower town whenever he wished to  - but they both knew this parting of the ways might be a more permanent situation than they hoped. As Gaius had handed him a few coins and told him where to find lodgings, then they’d embraced hard and Merlin had felt tears burning in his eyes.

 

They were still red now and they looked upon Morgana with loathing. Only the presence of the guards and the fact that he’d make things worse for himself if he acted, stilled his hands.

 

“Come to gloat?” he asked, throat constricting so hard he could barely get the words out.

 

“No,” she said simply and much to his surprise he believed her. The look on her face was open and honest.

 

“Then why did you do it?” he asked tightly, stopping a moment to challenge her. “I was protecting him. You should want that.”

 

“Perhaps I do,” she said, looking calm and not at all triumphant. “But everyone’s telling me to make a fresh start, to try again. I could never do that whilst I hated you so much. Whilst you were here, reaping the rewards of your betrayal.”

 

“Oh well I’m glad you’ve ruined everything and put his life at risk to make yourself feel better,” Merlin countered caustically. She’d always been self-centred and this shouldn’t come as any surprise.

 

But her eyes were oddly large and dark, looking much more like the girl he’d once known.

 

“What you did to me still haunts me,” she reasoned, purposely vague as to not let the guards overhear. It was a small mercy but Merlin knew just what she was referring to; the poison. “It changed everything for me. I could never trust anyone here again.”

 

Her gaze down and thoughtful as though she was only just realising this for herself.

 

Any other time he might have felt some pity for her, but not now.

 

“You were the source of it,” he bit in a sharp whisper, defending himself. “I had no choice.”

 

She looked up at him swiftly, a flash of anger in her eyes too.

 

“You could’ve talked to me! You didn’t even try!” The emotion was raw, the hurt written all over her face until she pulled it in check but he’d already seen it by that point and it left him surprised. He’d seen her anger over it before, the righteous sense of betrayal, but not this. Even if it was the most natural reaction of all.

 

“Now,” she said, nodding in slow satisfaction, “you’ll know a little of what I went through when I was abandoned and rejected for being what I am.”

 

She left, turning smoothly and heading out the door. Merlin hesitated only long enough to thoughtfully watch her go - hovering between anger and wondering if she had a point - before a guard nudged him in the back and he continued on his way.

 

**********************

 

“This looks awful,” Gwen muttered softly, turning Arthur’s hand over in hers and examining the impressive bruising all along the little finger side.

 

“It’s fine,” Arthur mumbled in return, eyes locked on the fire.

 

He’d been this way ever since he’d settled here after telling her what’d happened. Quiet and brooding, lost in deep thoughts and with a conflicted sad and angry expression on his face. At first Gwen had been too stunned to try to pull Arthur out of this - Merlin was a sorcerer all this time? - and now he was so deeply ensconced in the mood that all she could do was sit at his side and try to bring comfort. Words wouldn’t help right now; he had to think this through for himself first. Then he could ask his questions and she would help them with them as much as she could.

 

In all honesty, her own mind was rather asunder with it. Not just the notion that Merlin was in fact a sorcerer of some apparent power, but that he’d kept it from them all these years. Hiding himself from everyone who he’d considered a friend. She could almost justify the secrecy when he’d first arrived here - Arthur was an unknown factor, just as likely to support his father as go against him and perhaps Merlin had thought telling others would only put them in unnecessary peril should he ever be found out. But now? When things were so different? She could only hope that his motives were selfless if misguided ones. He was meant to be their friend - her friend - and yet he hadn’t felt able to confide in any of them. Coming on the back of Morgana’s confessions of distrust, it was a hard blow to take and brought up some difficult questions. For now though she’d concentrate on Arthur. She was very good at focusing on helping others in a crisis.

 

“It’s not fine,” she said gently, examining his hand again, noting the slight flinch when she touched it. “What did you do?”

 

“I hit a table.”

 

She smiled very slightly. “That was unwise.”

 

Rising, she leaned down to press a kiss to his head. “I’m going to get a salve from Gaius, something to ease the swelling and bruising. I’ll be back in a moment.”

 

As she moved to go, Arthur caught her wrist, bringing her to a stop.

 

“Don’t be long,” he said quietly, and there was such sadness in his face that she embraced him again, kissing his cheek and promising she’d be return very soon. She didn’t want to be left alone with her thoughts any more than he did.

 

Gaius had the good grace to look extremely apologetic as he opened his door following her polite knock.

 

“My lady,” he said with a formal nod.

 

“There’s no need for that,” she assured him, even though she was…well more disappointed in him than angry. All those times they’d worked together and he’d known. He’d held this big secret over them and whilst Gwen knew he’d never have taken pleasure in it, there was a deep betrayal there.

 

Now, she stuck to the business at hand.

 

“I came here to get a salve for Arthur’s hand. He has some nasty bruising.”

 

Astutely, Gaius didn’t even suggest tending to it himself, instead heading to one of his shelves. “Yes, I have just the thing,” he murmured, looking for the right jar.

 

Gwen stood there in slightly awkward silence until he returned to her, handing her the pot. She wasn’t surprised that he couldn’t stay entirely silent on the matter though.

 

“How is Arthur?” Clearly not just an enquiry after his health.

 

“Wounded,” she said honestly, looking at Gaius without backing away from it. “We all are.”

 

“I know, my lady,” he said with a sigh. “I wish it didn’t have to be that way.”

 

“It didn’t have to be,” she pointed out. “You could’ve told us.”

 

Gaius gave her a pained, weary smile. “It was never my secret to tell.”

 

Despite her misgivings, she couldn’t deny that.

 

“Do you think he’ll ever forgive him?” Gaius continued. “For keeping it from him?”

 

“I don’t know,” Gwen replied with a shake of her head, sad at the notion but unable to deny the possibility. “He’s suffered enough betrayal of late and this may be the last straw.”

 

**********************

 

Morgana didn’t sleep easy that night.

 

There was some underlying guilt about what she’d done to Arthur - not Merlin - and she felt a deep sadness when she recalled the wounded look on his face. She’d said sorry to him, the first apology he’d had from her in many years, but he’d dismissed it quietly, saying it wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t seen him since.

 

That guilt wasn’t what was stopping her from sleeping peacefully though. On the contrary, free of the burden of hating Merlin quite so vividly she should have slept more soundly than ever and yet when Morgause joined her in their bed, Morgana was unsettled and uneasy, murmuring quietly. The older woman whispered to her, words of comfort, stroking her hair to settle her, and Morgana finally calmed.

 

Outside the castle, at the base of its walls, Mordred felt her settle and was pleased. He didn’t need her becoming alert to his presence.

 

He ran his fingers along the city walls, listening to the heart of stones via the touch of magic, finding just the right point. As he knelt, he took a pouch from inside his cloak, removing a single river-smoothed pebble from it. He clutched it in his hands a moment, whispering words that made it briefly glow.

 

Perhaps it was that which alerted the off duty guard, although it could have been dumb luck, the man seeming drunk as he blundered out of a bush where he’d either been sleeping or urinating.

 

“Hey!” he challenged.

 

He was dead before he could say another word, his neck broken with a twist of magic.

 

Mordred left him where he fell - it was no issue to him if the man was discovered come morning - and instead he knelt, digging a small hole in the ground at the bottom of the wall with his short fingernails. He pressed the stone inside and covered it again. Then he stood, satisfied, and moved on to find the next spot.


	18. Chapter 18

Merlin had never lodged in a tavern before and he didn’t like it one bit.

 

He had stayed in them occasionally whilst travelling, but that was quite different. That was for one night and any poor experiences could be forgotten on the premise that it was a warm bed, a dry roof and they’d be moving on come morning. Now he was trying to make a - hopefully temporary - home out of one, and it was another experience entirely. The rowdy behaviour that carried on until the early hours of the morning was a constant grind, stopping him from sleeping. And when it did cease it was actually too quiet, the sounds around him unfamiliar. He either was too troubled by everything that’d happened to drift off or, if he nearly did, was swiftly awoken by an unfamiliar creaking from the building. The squeaking of the swaying sign outside his window was particularly annoying and he would’ve used magic to fix it if something hadn’t cautioned about using it so frivolously; being caught right now would probably not help his case. In fact it would probably be seen as rubbing Arthur’s nose in it.

 

Exhausted and still highly tense, he wasn’t as pleased as he might have been to see Gwaine waiting for him in the main tavern when he came down to get some breakfast.

 

“You look awful, Merlin,” the knight said brightly, far too cheerful a sympathy as he invited Merlin to join the spread of bread, cured meat and eggs he had in front of him.

 

Merlin might have declined if two things hadn’t occurred to him; he hadn’t eaten in near a day and he’d precious few friends left so he shouldn’t push away anyone who still offered it.

 

“I didn’t sleep well,” he said dryly as he took a seat.

 

Hardly surprising and Gwaine just nodded in understanding as he stabbed some meat with his fork.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, more curious than angry or hurt, the question rather casual as he appeared far more interested in the contents of his fork. “About you being magic, I mean. Or having magic, however you say it. I thought we were friends.”

 

“We are friends,” Merlin insisted, filling his own plate. “But I just couldn’t. I couldn’t tell Arthur at the start because I didn’t know how he’d react, and then telling anyone else would put them in an awkward situation if he did find out.”

 

Gwaine ate his meat and then nodded.

 

“True enough. Like Gaius.”

 

Merlin was quiet, pouring the weak ale into his goblet.

 

“How is he?” he asked worriedly.

 

“Lucky he’s old,” Gwaine said bluntly. “That’s what stopped Arthur throwing him out with you, I’m sure.”

 

Gwaine hesitated a moment, a more serious expression on his face as he looked at Merlin steadily.

 

“I did warn you that I’d never seen a woman angrier than that one.”

 

Merlin sighed. He’d had a lonely, quiet time to think things over in the past day and some of Morgana’s words had struck him hard. Along with the realisation that he’d likely pushed her to this with his suspicion. Not an excuse for her, but certainly a mistake on his part. If he’d been brave enough to just leave her be and deal with any consequences then none of this may have happened.

 

“This was personal,” he said with a shake of his head. “She blames me for not helping her. And maybe I did let her down. We’ve let each other down.”

 

“She didn’t know back then that you had magic?”

 

“No.”

 

“And she thinks you should’ve told her and helped her with hers?” Gwaine guessed.

 

“Probably.”

 

“She might have a point, you know.”

 

“Oh don’t you start,” Merlin complained with a scowl. “I’m second guessing myself enough as it is.”

 

Gwaine smiled at him as he leaned back in his chair, sipping on his ale. “Oh, we all do that. Wonder how things might have been. But they aren’t going to be any different, no matter how much we want it, and you’ll never really know so why hurt yourself thinking about it? Move on, Merlin. I mean, she couldn’t do it and look what happened…”

 

He had a point, Merlin thought.

 

“How’s Arthur?” he asked quietly, slightly dreading the answer.

 

Gwaine flinched as if recalling something quite fresh. “Angry, I think. I tried to talk to him on your behalf - tell him I thought you were a good man who was only trying to do what’s best - but he’s tense about it still and he doesn’t want to know.”

 

Despite that, Merlin smiled.

 

“Thanks for trying. You’re a good friend.”

 

Gwaine smiled too. “I brought you breakfast, didn’t I?” Then he leaned forward again, as though dispensing sage advice, a reassuring look on his face. “Look Merlin, he’s going to be angry, of course he is. But he’s a good man and a good king. And a sensible one and one who’s shown before that he can forgive. Just give him time, okay? I’m sure it’ll all be fine eventually.”

 

Merlin appreciated the sentiment. He just hoped it was soon enough.

 

As if to personally smite him, the city alarm bell began to ring.

 

Gwaine rolled him eyes, muttering something about ‘always in the middle of breakfast’ as he picked up his sword and went to investigate. Merlin followed him without hesitation.

 

It was easy to see where the trouble was, the crowd at the small eastern trade gate making quite the noise as they gathered and talked amongst themselves. Gwaine and Merlin arrived just in time to see a sobbing, half hysterical girl being led away by two older women and they took advantage of the parting of the crowd to get through to the heart of the problem.

 

Just outside the wall, a few feet from the gate, Elyan and a several guards stood looking at something on the ground.

 

“What happened?” Merlin asked as they rushed up.

 

Elyan gave him an odd look for a moment, as if uncertain as to whether he should be speaking to Merlin at all. Not knowing whether this was any of the other man’s business now and if he should be treated just like any other citizen and told to move on.

 

Apparently though he soon decided there was no harm in answering him.

 

“Flower girl found him dead,” he replied, nodding to his feet just as Merlin got close enough to see that a man in a guard’s uniform lay half concealed in the long grass.

 

From the unnatural angle of his neck, it was quite clearly broken.

 

Back in the castle, a large bird flew unsteadily overhead, only just making it to the courtyard before it swooped down and landed in an ungainly bundle of feathers, scaring a scullery maid half to death.

 

The bird was injured and bloodied and carried no reply from Lot. This was all the message he intended to send.

 

At the same time, many miles away, a sentry startled as he caught sight of the movement in the far distance. Being a man of many year’s service and good sense though, he stayed at his post as long as he dared, giving himself time to estimate the number of men and how fast they were moving. All information that would be vital; the army was large and would be within sight of Camelot in days.

 

When he could wait no longer, knowing he risked being spotted and failing to deliver his warning, he turned his horse and galloped back towards his home city.

 

“Should we send a unit to ride him down?” one of King Lot’s knights asked him as they watched the sentry go. He only hired the best and they’d spotted the man not long after they’d entered this valley.

 

“No,” the fierce king replied with an easy smile. “It won’t matter if they know we’re coming or not.”

 

**********************

 

Gwen found Morgana in the temporary working rooms that’d been given to her and Morgause whilst the latter investigated the magical artifacts. Morgana wasn’t working on them though; she was healing the injured bird.

 

Gwen hesitated as she entered the room, seeing Morgana performing a spell, the other woman’s eyes glowing golden. Gwen’s reaction was two fold - she didn’t want to interrupt Morgana’s work for the sake of the poor bird, but nor did she feel entirely at ease with the sight of Morgana performing magic. The memories there were not good ones.

 

When she was finished, the bird flapped its once broken wing experimentally and made a soft sound of what seemed to be approval. Morgana then looked at Gwen expectantly. Perhaps even a hint of challenge there; so you thought all magic was wrong, yes?

 

Gwen wouldn’t be so drawn into such prejudices.

 

“You’re good at that,” she said with bright confidence, nodding at the bird, which took a short, testing flight over to a nearby perch.

 

“Morgause says I have a talent for it,” Morgana replied simply. Pointedly even. She seemed a little tense about something and Gwen wondered if it was her presence. It was clear she still wasn’t comfortable around her.

 

There always seemed to be a barrier between them, whether it was the unspoken friendship they’d lost or the darkness of what had come after it. Gwen didn’t like to think that either was entirely insurmountable though, given time. It was a shame they might not have it.

 

“Lot’s army has been spotted heading this way,” she explained, deciding to quickly get to the point of her coming here. “The castle is being locked down for siege. If you and Morgause still wish to leave, you should probably do so soon.”

 

Morgana huffed derisively. “It’s hardly as if we need to ride out,” she reasoned before looking at her with grim questioning. “Is that what you think of us then? That we would save ourselves at the first sign of trouble? Or is it because we’re not trusted still?”

 

Gwen sighed. Yes, it was probably far easier for Morgana to see herself as a victim of their distrust and poor opinions but Gwen wouldn’t stand by and let such untruths go without challenge.

 

“Not at all,” she countered firmly. “But, as you said, this isn’t your home anymore and you’re under no obligation to help defend it. You have things you need to do.”

 

Morgana looked at her steadily, a genuine frown on her features. “I thought you knew me better than that, Gwen. Even now.”

 

Gwen returned her look, not shying from the moment. Yes, the Morgana she’d known had never run away from anything. Had never backed down. Whether it be stubbornness, pride or a desire to prove them all wrong, in truth she couldn’t see Morgana doing so now and she nodded in acceptance of that.

 

“I’m surprised Arthur hasn’t sent his queen away,” Morgana continued more lightly as she began to tidy the items she’d been using to heal the bird. The conversation was purposely casual for something that had an underlying tone of censure. She didn’t like the way women outside the Old Religion were generally treated.

 

“He hasn’t suggested it and I wouldn’t have gone,” Gwen said stubbornly.

 

Morgana smiled, almost unseen, and Gwen thought perhaps that’d been almost a test.

 

“I’m glad to hear it.”

 

“Besides,” Gwen added, not wanting to sound like she was being foolish simply out of pride alone, “Camelot is a strong fortress. I’m safer here than anywhere else.”

 

Morgana glanced at her with a frown, surprising concern on her face. As though honestly worried that Gwen thought that.

 

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” she murmured, swiftly trying to hide her reaction. Hiding the weakness of caring. “Mordred is very powerful and if he’s allied himself with Lot…”

 

Gwen sighed, shaking her head in confusion. That still didn’t make a tremendous amount of sense to her. “I don’t see how he can hate Arthur so much. Arthur saved him and the laws have changed now.”

 

Morgana’s expression was one of cold amusement.

 

“It’s not Arthur he’s interested in. It’s Emrys.” She frowned, correcting herself. “Merlin.”

 

Gwen frowned too, deeper and far more concerned. “He’s coming here for Merlin?”

 

“In a manner. Lot wants Camelot, Mordred wants Merlin. It’s an arrangement that suits them both.”

 

“But…why would he risk so many lives just to get to Merlin?” Gwen asked with a shake of her head. She didn’t pretend to understand the dealings of sorcerers but from a purely logistically point of view. “That’s…wrong. It’s madness.”

 

“I don’t know for certain,” Morgana admitted, her face full of an honesty that Gwen hadn’t seen there in a long time. “I don’t know what he has against him, but it was all he was interested in. Obsessed almost.” She shook her head, looking genuinely disturbed. “There’s nothing he wouldn’t do to get to him.”

 

“We should tell Arthur,” Gwen said resolutely.

 

“It wouldn’t make a difference,” Morgana countered. “Arthur won’t throw Merlin out to the mercy of someone who seems to want him dead, even now. And Lot would still come regardless. It’s too late.”

 

Gwen knew she was right and, as worrying as this whole thing was, she found a smile amongst all her anixety.

 

“You almost sound like you believe in Arthur again,” she pointed out softly.

 

Morgana’s look was dry and sarcastic. “I know what a loyal fool he can be, that’s all.”

 

Gwen’s smile didn’t falter.

 

**********************

 

“Well how did he really die then?”

 

Gaius jumped and dropped one of the bottles he’d been holding, wincing in expectation for the smash that didn’t come. When he dared to look, the bottle was hovering a mere hand’s width from the floor and Merlin was emerging from the shadows of the room to retrieve it.

 

“What are you doing here?” Gaius demanded in a harsh whisper as Merlin handed him the bottle back. “You know what might happen if you’re caught! You could be exiled!”

 

Merlin shrugged.

 

“I need to know how that guard died, Gaius,” he said resolutely. “It looked like his neck was broken but…”

 

Gaius gave a weary nod of acceptance. Merlin was by far old enough to make choices about his own risks by now and he understood entirely what worried the younger man about the incident.

 

“His neck was indeed broken,” Gaius said, leading Merlin over to the body which was still laying on the cot where he’d been examining it. “But there’s no visible injuries. Certainly no sign of a fall or a fight.”

 

“Like it was caused by magic,” Merlin concluded grimly, examining the neck himself and seeing that Gaius was indeed right.

 

Gaius looked at him, eyebrow arched in warning. “Please don’t tell me you think this was Morgana’s work.”

 

Those sorts of allegations, in the current climate, really could get him thrown out of Camelot completely.

 

“No,” Merlin said, his face more serious than Gaius could ever remember seeing it. “I think this is something far more worrying.”

 

**********************

 

The people of Camelot were so busy preparing for the now inevitable battle that no one, not even the guards, paid any heed to Merlin as he left through one of the gates to check for himself the spot where the dead man had been found.

 

The man had definitely been killed by magic, Merlin was sure of it, and since he could see no good reason for it to be the work of either Morgana or Morgause, he feared what it meant. And what the boy in question might have been doing so close to Camelot’s walls.

 

The sound of preparations was muffled on this side of the thick stone and no one was about, giving him peace and time to think. The place where the body was found was quite easy to find again, even in the current darkness of nightfall, the indentation in the thick grass very obvious. Taking a good look around, he couldn’t see anything out of place or suspicious and so he knelt down, running his hand over the ground, attempting to feel anything.

 

There was definite magic here, he realised, sensing the tingle against his palm. But what did it mean?

 

“I’m surprised Arthur hasn’t thrown you out.”

 

Merlin swiftly turned to face the unexpected voice, trying to keep a steady demeanour despite his shock. Mordred was standing just a few feet away, green cloak wrapped around him and a quite calm expression on his face. He gazed at Merlin with interest, cocking his head like a bird, and Merlin winced as he felt the power of the young man’s magic like something clawing at him again. Like two opposing forces that were never meant to meet.

 

The area all around them was flat and clear and Merlin should’ve seen him coming, yet the boy had apparently appeared out of nowhere, not even a whirlwind of magic announcing his arrival. That unsettled Merlin even further but he calmed the fast beating of his heart and stood up to face him.

 

“Haven’t you heard?” he challenged quietly. “Arthur’s changed the laws on magic.”

 

Mordred didn’t seem impressed. Nor to have any feelings on the matter at all. “But not on betraying the king, I presume. What you did could’ve been considered treason. Don’t kings execute people for treason?”

 

He sounded so young still and yet the look in his eyes was something far older.

 

“Arthur’s a better man than you think he his,” Merlin defended, although he doubted anything he could say would suddenly change Mordred’s mind on his plans.

 

“I don’t think about Arthur at all,” Mordred replied as though the notion was odd to him. “I only care about you.”

 

Merlin had heard as much before, but it was a shock to hear it from Mordred's own mouth, especially put in such gentle terms.

 

“I wouldn’t have let him execute you,” Mordred continued, walking to one side as if to circle around him. Wary, Merlin turned, keeping his distance from the boy and his eyes fix on him. “I would’ve rescued you if necessary. I don’t want to see you dead.”

 

“Thanks,” Merlin said with heavy sarcasm. He doubted that was as good an offer as it sounded.

 

“Not like that at least,” Mordred concluded. He stopped, studying Merlin again with his oddly curious gaze. “I haven’t forgotten how you tried to kill me. Do you remember it?”

 

His voice was surprisingly light and conversational for the topic and it made Merlin wary.

 

“You told me you wouldn’t forget that,” Merlin recalled quietly. “I believed you.”

 

“It was because of the prophecy, wasn’t it?”

 

That surprised Merlin; he’d no idea that Mordred knew of it.

 

“Yes,” he confirmed, not trying to hide it. “I can’t let that happen.”

 

“But it does happen,” Mordred said with a frown of confusion, as though he thought Merlin was being quite silly. “It’s been seen. I’m going to destroy everything you’ve done.”

 

His casual tone annoyed Merlin, making his anger and frustration rise when he should have kept it in check.

 

“Why?” he demanded. “Because of what happened in the past? I’m sorry about your father, okay? But that was Uther. Things are different now, you don’t need to do any of this.”

 

Mordred look thoughtful.

 

“My father’s death is troubling,” he concluded, even if it was an odd way of putting it. “And the fact that you decided to stand beside everything that tried to destroy our kind also. But it’s more than that.”

 

“I was protecting a better future!” Merlin protested, tired of this argument. He’d heard it enough elsewhere. “You’re going to bring that down before it’s barely started!”

 

“Unfortunate,” Mordred agreed. “But only one sorcerer of our ability should been born into every generation. Ours has two. That’s not right, Emrys. It’s not meant to be. It’s my destiny to fix that.”

 

In that moment, Merlin couldn’t decide whether the boy was quite mad or dangerously consumed by the power within him. Either way, he knew with a certainty that there’d be no dissuading him.

 

“Then we’ll leave Camelot,” he said hurriedly, doing the only thing he could. He briefly considered attacking but was sure Mordred would be well prepared for that and if he died now… “We can go somewhere else and fight it out to the end, however you want. We don’t need to take other people with us.”

 

The look in Mordred’s eyes was dark. Cruel. It was the most emotion Merlin had seen him show so far.

 

“There’s no victory in that. You have to destroy your enemy in every way. I learnt that from the tales my father told me of Camelot. There is no mercy.”

 

The sudden casting of magic was like a whip, quick and sharp, and Merlin barely had enough time to think of countering it before he realised that it wasn’t an attack on him. No, it was far worse.

 

Behind him, the walls suddenly shook and groaned and Merlin thought for a horrible moment there was going to be some devastating land shift before it stopped again just as suddenly. Then there was stillness about the air, far too still in fact, before the sound of a falling stone broke the silence. Just one, a small piece clattering down and bouncing to land at his feet. A frown of confusion almost came across Merlin face but then there was a second stone, followed by another and another…

 

The walls, Merlin realised much to his disbelief, were beginning to slowly fall apart. Even before his very eyes they looked like they were eroding.  The stone surface seemed to be shrinking and turning to dust, parts immediately falling out. It looked as though something was being sucked out of them and leaving a barren shell that was simply crumbling.

 

Merlin turned back to Mordred with a look of horror on his face.

 

“Lot’s army is on its way,” Mordred said, quite calm again. “And Camelot will be all but defenceless.”


	19. Chapter 19

Morgana awoke with a sudden start, drawing breath sharply. For a moment she thought that she must have had a dream and been shocked awake by it, but the bracelet was securely on her wrist and she could remember nothing. She always remembered them.

 

Confused, a cry of alarm from outside drew her attention to the window and she clambered hurriedly out of bed, crossing to it and flinging it open. Very much to her surprise, Aithusa instantly flew in, the young dragon screeching in a way that Morgana had never heard her do before. The noise woke Morgause too who sat up with the alert readiness of a soldier, reaching for the dagger she always kept at her bedside. She frowned at the dragon but didn’t take her for the threat.

 

“Something’s wrong,” Morgana said hurriedly, looking back outside again. Not sure what she was searching for as she gazed around the dark city, it took her a moment to spot what was happening to the walls. It was subtle but even she could see that the outline of them was…uneven. No longer the pristinely carved stone they’d once been, the edges now ragged and looking far older. Dust was falling and small parts crumbling away.

 

“Something’s wrong,” she repeated again to Morgause who’d moved to her side and shared her equally grave look.

 

As if in agreement, Aithusa screeched.

 

Wasting no time, Morgana moved swiftly out the door and down the corridor. There were no longer guards outside her room, but two stood sentry outside the king and queen’s bed chamber and they immediately barred her way with lances when she tried to enter.

 

“I need to speak to Arthur at once!” she demanded furiously, reaching through to hammer on the door. “Arthur! Gwen! Come out here!”

 

She could’ve used magic on them, she supposed, but she didn’t think it would really help her in getting to talk to them about the matter at hand more quickly.

 

“You need to return to your rooms, my lady!” the guard insisted, looking at his colleague in confusion over what to do. This was the king’s sister, but she’d also tried to kill him in his bed not so long ago.

 

Fortunately, Arthur was quickly roused.

 

The door was opened to reveal his rather bleary face, lit by the candle he was holding, Gwen standing close behind him.

 

“Morgana?” he asked with a frown that was part confusion and part irritation at being woken like this. It’d taken him an age to fall asleep. “What on earth is going on?”

 

“You need to come and see,” she insisted, still trying to force her way through the crossed lances.

 

Arthur’s frown turned into something more like concern and he made the guards stop barring her way with a wave of his hand. Instantly, Morgana grabbed at him, dragging him out of his room and down the corridor to the large window at the end. Gwen followed.

 

“Look!” she insisted, pointing outside and when he did so and proceeded to give her a dumb look that seemed to question her sanity, she prodded him harder. “At the walls!”

 

It took a moment longer for Arthur to get it than she had, but when he did it was quite clear, eyes widening in shock. They were in a worse state than they’d been shortly before, the tops clearly crumbling away and the decay seeming to spread downwards.

 

“Dear god…” Gwen whispered.

 

“It’s Mordred,” Morgana said grimly. She knew. She felt it.

 

Arthur turned sharply to the guards. “Find Sir Leon. Tell him to meet me at the south wall immediately!”

 

By the time they reached the wall themselves - Morgana and Gwen following him and Arthur not bothering to tell them to wait inside - Morgause was already there and the guard were keeping a small, worriedly muttering crowd back.

 

“Is it magic?” Arthur demanded of her harshly and Morgause only forgave him that because of his clear worry. More small stones and dust fell from above them, tumbling omniously down.

 

She held her hand up to bid him be patient a moment and then ran her hand over the wall, eyes closed in concentration. When she opened them again, her look was sharp and focused.

 

“Outside,” she said hurriedly, moving to the nearest gate and demanding she be let through.

 

The guards looked uncertain and Arthur snapped.

 

“For goodness sake, let her through!”

 

They quickly parted and Morgause marched ahead, Arthur, Gwen and Morgana following on her heels. They were sensible enough to stand aside and allow her to work, watching as she closed her eyes once more and ran her hand through the air as if following an invisible thread. Eventually she stopped and knelt, white night gown trailing in the dirt.

 

A small whispered spell and the earth in front of her shifted, bubbling up almost like a molehill. She picked something from the top of the pile and brought it over to show them.

 

“It’s a rock,” Arthur stated bluntly and with angry irritation. He didn’t have time for anything but clear answers.

 

“It’s a mutaba stone,” she said with patience. “They were used by the people of magic to build and take down their homes.”

 

“Take them down?” Gwen asked.

 

“Far easier to move to better climes when winter sets in or if bandits come to the area,” Morgause reasoned. “The stones recall the natural materials in the stone back to the earth and what remains is brittle and quickly crumbles.”

 

Sir Leon had joined them at just the right moment and Arthur turned to him swiftly.

 

“We need to find these stones and dig them up right away. Every guard - every available man.”

 

The knight nodded and set about it without further question.

 

“That will help,” Morgause said gravely, “but the damage is already done. The walls are weakened and will fall.”

 

**********************

 

The council chamber was a cacophony of noise as lords and knights expressed their concerns and, more importantly, their ideas about what could be done. The rocks had been dug up removed from the perimeter but, just as Morgause had said, the walls were continuing to fall, the remaining stone just too brittle and easily crumbling. Every available mason had been called to work but it would never be enough; Lot’s army would be here long before the repairs could be made.

 

Everyone knew it and everyone knew that without the walls Camelot was highly vulnerable and the loss of life would be great even if they could win the upcoming battle. And that was a very large if since, without the walls to mount a defence behind, they’d little choice but to face Lot on the open field. The two armies were evenly matched and hundreds of soldiers would die. Even in victory, Camelot’s ability to defend itself would be severely reduced and Lot wasn’t the only person who would look to claim it.

 

No reasonable plan seemed to be viable. Which is why, as others talked and argued, Arthur came up with a more unreasonable one.

 

It only took him to stand for silence to descend. Gradually, but it did, and he just waited until all eyes were on him in expectation.

 

“We can’t defeat Lot’s army,” he began.

 

“Sire, we stand a chance,” Leon protested in an instant, defending the honour and skill of his knights. “It’s much more difficult without the walls but I would square up the best of Camelot against whatever Lot can throw at us any day.”

 

Arthur nodded, placating but still quite serious in his assessment. “That maybe true but we have homes and civilians to protect. It’s a noble and right distraction, but still a distraction. They can just concentrate on killing us, we have to defend others.”

 

Leon couldn't argue with that assessment.

 

“So I say we try a different tactic,” Arthur continued. “We cut off the snake’s head. We kill Lot.”

 

The knights shared looks between each other, many obviously going through the ins and outs of such a plan in a moment and coming up with the same issue. Leon was the one to naturally voice it though.

 

“Lot won’t join the battle,” he reasoned. Arthur may be a knight and soldier, like his father before him, but Lot wasn’t. He was a general and would stay behind with some of his men to watch over the battle and direct strategy.

 

“No, he won’t,” Arthur agreed. “But with the numbers so evenly matched, he won’t be able to afford to keep that many men with him. That’ll leave him vulnerable to a small, skilled group.”

 

“I can lead them,” Leon offered immediately, fully behind his king’s plan. He trusted in him.

 

Arthur shook his head though. “No. I will.”

 

Even Gwen looked surprised at that.

 

“This could be our only hope,” Arthur reasoned in response to universal uncertainty. “And the responsibility should be mine. I want Sir Leon to stay here and organise our defence.”

 

Leon nodded but it was quite clear from his expression that he was unhappy with the idea.

 

“How you will get close enough to him?” he questioned instead. “Forgive me, Sire, but you’re going to have to sneak passed an army.”

 

Morgause - both she and Morgana having been invited to this meeting yet remaining silent observers up until now - finally spoke up.

 

“I can assist with that.”

 

She offered no more explanation but Arthur assumed she would give it when necessary and he nodded in thanks and acceptance.

 

One of the older council members cleared his throat.

 

“Whilst you may be able to see this plan through, Sire,” he said, polite but with an arched questioning in his tone, “I’m not sure I see the merit in it. Just because you kill Lot doesn’t mean the rest of his men will fall back and flee. They may continue their destruction out of vengeance.”

 

Arthur had already considered that. It was indeed an unknown and all he’d been able to come up with was the notion that they needed to ensure that word of Lot’s demise spread to his men quickly and it made them falter. Perhaps they might even be able to force someone in his army into sounding a retreat.

 

Morgana spoke up before he could though.

 

“You have a point,” she said to the old councillor, although her disdain for the man - for anyone from Uther’s old regime - was thinly veiled. “Which is why I would suggest someone go and see the lie of the land.”

 

“Oh yes?” Arthur asked with interest. He’d come to appreciate her cunning at times.

 

“I’ll go to Lot when he makes camp,” she said. “I’ll pretend to offer him my help. Tell him I hate Camelot still.”

 

“You think they’ll believe you?”

 

“I think it would be harder to convince them otherwise,” she said dryly - something Arthur couldn’t really disagree with - “We need to find a man of more moderate persuasion amongst his lords. One that might be quite happy to call a retreat from Camelot if given the opportunity to take Lot’s kingdom instead.”

 

She looked at Arthur pointedly and he wondered for a moment how she’d know he’d had that in mind. Was reading thoughts a power of hers or did she really know him that well? Still, he nodded. Hers was a bold plan but one with merit. And of potential long term benefit if they could help see a better man on that throne.

 

“You should careful,” Morgause spoke up, a most serious look on her face. “Particularly if Mordred is amongst them.”

 

“I suspect his gaze will be elsewhere,” Morgana reasoned. “It always has been.”

 

Arthur wasn’t sure what she meant but he pushed it aside for now.

 

“She’s right,” he agreed. “I don’t want you putting yourself in danger.”

 

“I won’t be,” she replied with a slight smile. “I’ll be making myself feel far better in fact; I don’t like being used.”

 

*********************

 

The worried muttering - the almost constant song of Camelot these days - continued as the council meeting was dismissed. The king’s plan was bold and unusual, littered with opportunity for failure in a way that made everyone nervous. Not that anyone had suggested a more viable alternative. Times were desperate and that meant the measures they must go to were desperate as well.

 

For his part, Gaius had faith in Arthur. No, the plan wasn’t a certainty and that was worrying to contemplate when so much - so many people’s lives - were at stake. But if anyone could pull off such a feat then it was Arthur. He was a good and skilled soldier true, but it was his heart that made Gaius trust him. Arthur loved Camelot and its people with everything he had. He’d pull off the impossible to avoid failing them.

 

Gaius was part way up the spiral staircase to his rooms when he was suddenly yanked into one of the side alcoves. He should’ve known who it was before the voice whispered to him in the near darkness.

 

“What’s Arthur planning?”

 

“For the love of the old gods Merlin! Are you trying to get yourself executed!”

 

“I think Arthur’s a little busy with other things right now,” Merlin dismissed hurriedly. “What’s he planning?”

 

Gaius sighed, rolling his eyes and relenting as he always did, outlining the plan that Arthur had put before them. Being unable to see Merlin’s expression properly in the semi darkness, he’d no idea what the young man thought of it until he spoke. There was uncertainty in his voice.

 

“It could work…”

 

“It has to work,” Gaius said bluntly. “Have faith in him, Merlin. You of anyone should.”

 

“I know. I do. It’s just…I’m not there to help him.”

 

Gaius reached out to find his shoulder.

 

“He has to stand on his own sometime,” he soothed, knowing exactly how Merlin felt. It was how he felt about the young sorcerer himself. “Besides, you don’t need to worry about Lot. Let Arthur deal with that. You need to concentrate on Mordred.”

 

Merlin had already sent Gaius a note confirming what everyone had already presumed; that it’d indeed been Mordred who’d caused the walls to fail. He’d also told him some of the other things Mordred had said to him. Like the fact that only one of the two of them should be alive. In many ways that troubled Gaius far more than the upcoming battle did.

 

“I’m not worried about me,” Merlin dismissed strongly. “I’m worried about who he’ll hurt to get to me.”

 

“Then you need to confront him first,” Gaius said. It wasn’t a tactic he’d necessarily advocate - Merlin going to find the boy that’d sworn to kill him - but he also knew that Merlin would never forgive himself if anyone died in whatever game this was that Mordred was playing. Besides, doing something unexpected may be the key to winning this.

 

“I know,” Merlin agreed with a tense huff, “but that means finding him and I have no idea how.”

 

**********************

 

“We need to move more people into the castle itself,” Gwen stated with firm practicality as she walked by Arthur’s side whilst he oversaw final preparations. “That’ll give them better protection than staying in their homes will.”

 

Arthur nodded, valuing her council and her care. She could look after the people and leave him to concentrate on the battle itself. It was an arrangement that suited them both and used them best.

 

“Have the servants prepare the Great Hall,” he agreed without hesitation. “We can fit hundreds in there.”

 

“They’re going to need blankets and food too,” she continued after a nod of thanks. “And arms. They need the means to defend themselves if necessary.”

 

Arthur hoped it wouldn’t come to that but…

 

“Talk to Sir Leon. Tell him I said they can have whatever he can spare.”

 

Gwen nodded in a sharp, organised manner but then paused just a moment to squeeze his hand softly in reassurance before hurrying off on her task. Not for the first time. Arthur was infinitely glad that he’d married her.

 

Many people accosted him as he continued through the castle and he gave them as brief an answer to their questions as he could, knowing they all had little time and much to do. Morgause demanded more of his attention than most dared though, stopping him by standing directly in front of him.

 

“Come with me,” she demanded, matching his own currently brisk manner.

 

He decided it would likely be quicker not to argue and just follow.

 

“Has Morgana already gone?” he asked as Morgause led him into the workroom she’d been using.

 

“At dawn, as soon as we heard where Lot was making camp.”

 

“And…she’s well?” he asked cautiously. “You’d know if she was in trouble?”

 

Morgause smiled in amusement at his fussing. “Morgana can take care of herself, believe me.”

 

That much was true he supposed.

 

“If you are serious about allowing magic in your kingdom,” Morgause continued, moving to the other side of the work bench and opening a small chest. “Then I suggest you start now.”

 

When she returned to his side she was holding in her hand a small, wooden disk covered in intricate carvings. Something that appeared pretty yet quite unremarkable to his eyes.

 

“I’m presuming it has a use…” he prompted.

 

“One of the items I found in your vaults,” she explained. “It can help create a barrier to protect the castle. Not as good as your walls were but..”

 

“Good,” he nodded. They’d take anything they could get right now. “Do it.”

 

“That would be unwise,” she stated, continuing quickly to cut off his protest. “If Lot arrives and sees an obstacle it may cause him to change his plans. Far better for us that he attacks recklessly, thinking we’re defenceless and commits his troops instead of leaving more in reserve where they may be in a position to defend him. If I place this correctly, I can cause the barrier to appear when we need it.”

 

Arthur nodded. “Fine. Where do you need to place it?”

 

“You have a well in your courtyard, don’t you?”

 

“Several. I’ll show you.”

 

As they moved with swift purpose outside, he saw Morgause smiling again.

 

“I didn’t think you would trust me so quickly.”

 

Arthur huffed a small laugh. “Nor did I, but needs must.”

 

They moved a few dozen more paces in silence.

 

“You look like her, you know,” Morgause finally said, thoughtfully. “Our mother. I see far more of her than Uther in you.”

 

Arthur felt a stillness come over him. An odd kind of peace.

 

“As do you,” he replied, quietly. His gaze was thoughtfully and there was another pause before he spoke again. “That must’ve been the first time you’d seen her too, when you summoned her to talk to me. You said it would only work once.”

 

Morgause nodded, pleasantly surprised that he’d paid such attention. “I had seen her from afar. Before your birth the High Priestesses brought me to Camelot in secret and pointed her out to me. They thought I should know.”

 

“I should have known too,” Arthur reasoned. “I should have known a lot of things.”

 

“You can’t change that now. Only move forward.”

 

It was a common sentiment of late.

 

They reached the well then and she dropped the disk inside. Arthur only hoped that it would prove useful.

 

As poorly timed as ever, Merlin suddenly appeared without warning, pushing through the hurrying people in the courtyard, moving close before anyone could stop him.

 

“Arthur, we have to talk!”

 

Arthur looked skywards, irritation rising in him as he turned on his heels and walked away. He hadn’t even begun to think about forgiving Merlin yet and his pleas were certainty not what he needed right now.

 

“I don’t have time, Merlin,” he said hurriedly. “I’ll forget your foolishness in being here if you just go now.”

 

His controlled anger at the situation was still clear but Merlin remained persistent.

 

“Arthur, please! I can help!”

 

Arthur whirled back momentarily, the stress of the past few days making his temper fragile.

 

“Maybe you can, but I don’t know what to believe about you any more,” he snapped, voice hard and low. “You lied to me every day for six years! How do you think I can possibly trust you? If we all survive this I’ll give it some thought then, okay? Until then, stay out of my sight!”

 

He swiftly returned through the gate which Merlin was barred from entering. He sighed, leaning back, shoulders sagging.

 

“Give him time,” a surprising voice from behind him counselled. Merlin turned to Morgause, seeing her looking into the well rather than at him. “And remember what I said; by helping me free Morgana you’ve changed the fate of this battle. Mordred has lost a strong ally.”

 

“And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?” Merlin demanded in frustration, hating the fact that he was reduced to asking her for advice.

 

Morgause gave him an easy shrug.

 

“Haven’t you always protected Arthur from the shadows? Why would you stop now just because someone knows you might be there?”


	20. Chapter 20

Lot actually laughed when he stepped into his command tent and indeed saw the Lady Morgana waiting for him as he’d been told she would be.

 

“Well this is a surprise!” he said with a false joviality which held little kindness. More hard amusement. “I thought my men were playing a cruel joke when they said I had such a treat awaiting me!”

 

Three more men - lords from the style of their dress - entered just behind him and Morgana forced a cool smile for the sake of appearance. She was no ‘treat’, certainly not his at any stretch, and had they been alone she might have expected she was in for an unpleasant time brushing off his attentions. As it was, thankfully he turned to business swiftly.

 

“So to what do I owe the pleasure of such a guest?” he asked, intrigued as he crossed and sat in raised his chair, casually reclining back as he regarded her. It was an unsubtle act that she could easily read having been around powerful men all her life, but Morgana allowed him his silly games without comment or pretending to notice.

 

“You want to take Camelot,” she cooed, with a playful edge. She knew how to work men. “I want to see it fall. It seems to me that we should be good friends.”

 

Lot enjoyed her manner, smiling indulgently, but wasn’t totally fooled by it. His own was just as toying.

 

“Really, my lady?” he said with a mockery of surprise, raising an eyebrow. “This is a surprise since my spies have told me you’ve made peace with your brother.”

 

Morgana was prepared and didn’t let that throw her.

 

“I’ve made a pretence at peace. But do you think I want the lifelong suspicion and intrusion that will come as the cost of their friendship? Besides, I’d rather see anyone but Arthur sit on what should have been my rightful throne. Uther discarded and disowned me in favour of him; I’ve no reason to see him get what he doesn’t deserve.”

 

Lot studied her with open interest now.

 

“And what can you give me to…seal this friendship? I’m not sure what need you think I have of you; I’ve a mighty army after all and I’ve heard that Camelot has problems with its defences.”

 

Of course he had; the action may have been Mordred’s but it was done for the sake of Lot’s army and on his command. But his words now were a challenge to her - Lot was no fool and wouldn’t enter an alliance with no gain regardless of how persuasive she was - and she was already prepared to meet them.

 

“If you’ve spies like you claim, then you’ll know your numbers are evenly matched with Camelot’s.” Her manner was filled with utter confidence. “Taking it is certainly possible but with the losses you might suffer, holding it could be a different matter entirely. I can help ensure those losses are reduced and that the city falls quickly.”

 

“That’s a very…convenient offer,” he pointed out, eyes narrowing, suspicious of anyone who’d so easily give him a solution to what he knew was his one remaining problem. Camelot was a prize worth risking much over - and he was taking a risk, even with the walls crumbling - but he hadn’t kept his throne without a healthy dose of caution and cynicism.

 

“Do you not trust me?” Morgana cooed in return, an amused smile on her face to show how silly she thought that was.

 

Lot laughed shortly, a hard sound. “Of course not. You and your sister were the death of my predecessor after all.”

 

Yes, Cenred hadn’t fared well by their hands, disposed of as soon as he’d outlived his use, and Lot’s suspicion was sensible in light of that.

 

“Although,” the king continued, his cold smile changing to something quite different, “he did tell me some very interesting stories about you both. About how he once spied on the pair of you. Together.”

 

Now he was looking at her as a man might like look at a particularly fine feast that’d been put before him and it took a mammoth effort for Morgana to suppress the urge to all but turn him inside out at the implication he was making. Even if she knew it was true.

 

“Men like to talk about things that please them,” she said vaguely, pretending that he might get to hear more even though she’d no willingness to sully her relationship with Morgause by using it as cheap titillation.

 

Cenred had certainly liked to talk. He’d boasted to his men that he enjoyed the company of both women and Morgause - hearing from members of the Blood Guard planted as her spies - had soothed Morgana with the knowledge that he’d get his comeuppance for alluding to such fantasies when the time was right. Then he’d started talking about the notion of marrying Morgana and claiming dominion over Camelot through her. If he’d been smarter, he would’ve had more caution, knowing what might happen if those words got back to Morgause. As it was, they’d seen him killed. Morgause wouldn’t stand for such ideas, whether they were seriously threatened or not. Morgana was almost sad that her sister would not get to meet this king too and put him in his place.

 

Fooled by her playful manner, Lot simply laughed.

 

“Perhaps I would be as lucky too if you were my guests,” he suggested before moving on, leaving that desire hanging. “What do you want, my lady? In return for the generous assistance you offer?”

 

Morgana folded her arms, a stubborn gesture that brooked no negotiation. “For my sister and myself to leave Camelot unharmed, to be allowed to return to our home in peace and without interference. We’ll orchestrate an attack from the inside to thin their numbers and when the battle is over you can have the city.”

 

“You don’t want it?”

 

“We have more pressing matters that need attending to.”

 

Lot nodded as he considered her offer.

 

“Is that all?” he asked. “You’ll not bind me to any more favours without my true knowledge?”

 

“On the contrary,” she soothed, knowing the High Priestesses had an old reputation for tricks in deals which made him suspicious, “the Old Religion will see you justly rewarded in any manner that’s pleasing to you. We always take good care of our allies.”

 

There was just enough promise there to make him read into it how he wished.

 

Lot only hesitated a moment longer before he grinned broadly.

 

“Then I believe we have an accord, my lady,” he said jovially before turning to his lords. “Will this silence your bellyaching now Anir? What did you call this before; a fools quest? We’ll see how foolish I look when I’m sitting on the throne of Camelot, shall we?”

 

Morgana ignored his boasting, instead glancing to the lord that Lot had taken to teasing. So he’d argued against the attack, had he? A man worth finding out more about…

 

**********************

 

Arthur paused at the window to watch the final preparations in the courtyard below - the scouts said Lot was within three leagues of Camelot now and they expected an attack by nightfall - before he turned back to look at Morgana.

 

“And you’re sure about this man?”

 

“As sure as I can be,” she confirmed, arms crossed and her manner entirely businesslike. More like two opposing leaders forced to work together right now than brother and sister. “He didn’t agree with the plan to attack Camelot and doesn’t think that they can hold both this and their own kingdom.”

 

“So if he were given the opportunity to retreat…” Arthur said, not bothering to spell out the natural conclusion.

 

“It’s worth a try,” Morgana confirmed.

 

Arthur nodded, agreeing with her and then pausing to take a drink. He hadn’t stopped for a proper meal all day and Gwen had insisted that he did so, arguing he needed his strength, but even now he found himself picking at the food between bouts of pacing.

 

“How did you come by this information?” he asked, unable to help glancing out of the window at his city again. A city that may no longer be his by morning.

 

Morgana smirked. “Men are easy to make talk.”

 

Arthur gave her a dry look of scolding, knowing she was toying with him by leaving him to use his imagination. He refused to rise to it, having no patience for her mind games. In fact, he wondered why she chose to act this way now when she’d been cordial enough with him in the past few days. Why couldn’t she just show him some gentleness considering what was to come? The more serious the situation had become, the colder she’d seemed to get. Perhaps though it was just easier to pretend to be blase than let others see what she truly felt. It was a barrier he hoped they could work on if they all survived.

 

“I want you to go to the infirmary,” he commanded instead, all business still, “to help Gwen and Gaius there during the battle. It’s been set up in the council chamber at the moment.”

 

She frowned at him with affront.

 

“I’m not one of your lackeys to be ordered around,” she protested. “I can fight.”

 

He rolled his eyes. Now this was like days of old.

 

“Yes, I am well aware that, Morgana. But Gwen said you had talent with healing and I think it’s where we’re going to need you most.” His tone was harsher than he meant as he regarded the angry look on her face. “Besides don’t you think it’s time you restored the balance of life and death a bit?”

 

It was true enough but a cruel reminder and her lips pursed even if she made no attempt to deny it. Instead she turned sharply to go, saying no more to him. Immediately he sighed and called her back. He may never see her again after all and they shouldn’t part like this.

 

“Morgana, be careful,” he said more gently. “I’m relying on you. If things go badly, I want you to promise me that you and Gwen will get out of here. I want to know you’ll both be safe.”

 

Her face still set in stone, her mouth a tight line, but the look in her eyes softened and she nodded. She’d always been partly insulted by his manner of caring - she was no fair maiden who needed a man’s protection - but she couldn’t deny that he cared.

 

She reached the doorway before she paused again, barely looking back but apparently on the verge of confessing something troubling to her if the expression on her face was any indication. He looked at her with expectation but whatever she truly had to say seemed to die on her lips.

 

“Just try not to die, Arthur,” she murmured quietly instead, before leaving him alone in his rooms.

 

**********************

 

She was the last person Merlin expected to see when he went to leave the tavern, set on his plan to find Mordred. Everyone else had already abandoned the building, moved into the Great Hall for whatever protection it provided, and the tavern was empty. Except for Morgana blocking the doorway.

 

Merlin stared her down a moment, mind instantly going to the possibility that this was a further betrayal and she was here to stop him from going after Mordred. His hesitation was enough time for her to surprise him before he said a word.

 

She threw something at him and he flinched in anticipation of an attack even though the object bounced harmlessly across the wooden floor to stop at his feet. Crouching with cautious, he picked the shining object up; it was a silver ring of serpents entwined. The look he gave her was all the question he needed to ask.

 

“It was a gift from Mordred,” she said, voice cold even in apparent alliance. “As something that belonged to him, it’ll help you find out where he is.”

 

Merlin nodded. She was absolutely correct - he could use it to performing a common seeking spell - and this would certainly make his job much easier but still he couldn’t help his suspicion. A fact his frowning expression didn’t try to hide.

 

“Why are you helping me?”

 

She looked at him steadily. Challengingly.

 

“Because I don’t want Arthur to die because of you and I fear that boy more than the whole of Lot’s army put together.”

 

**********************

 

Gwen was trying not to think about how she’d kissed Arthur goodbye, nor about how he’d told her of his wish that she and Morgana escape if all should fail and the city fell to Lot. She couldn’t bear to think that she may have seen him for the last time, nor did she want to face the ache of knowing that she’d defy his final wish. Whatever his wants though, she couldn’t abandon Camelot or its people. She was here until the end, whatever and whenever that may be. She hoped Arthur could understand that and she suspected - under his natural concern for her - that he ultimately wouldn’t begrudge her for it.

 

Preparing the infirmary was a good distraction, helped further as Morgause strode into the room, dressed in her chainmail and with a sword hanging at her side. She’d made her wish to join the battle known as soon as they’d realised one was coming and Arthur hadn’t refused her. He’d once fought her and lost after all, he knew her skill.

 

Morgana - who’d joined them an hour ago, tightly saying she’d been ‘sent’, but setting herself efficiently to work all the same - didn’t hide her emotions well for once. Her face washed with momentary worry when she saw the other woman entering, a vulnerability slipping through the mask she’d got so good at wearing. Gwen noticed it but said nothing.

 

“Is all prepared?” Morgause asked, Gwen moving aside a moment to give them some privacy.

 

“Yes,” Morgana replied, the unease in her eyes so clear that her next words wouldn’t be a surprise to anyone. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

 

Morgause’s businesslike expression softened a moment and she reached up to cup Morgana’s cheek.

 

“I promised you that I would not leave you again,” she said solemnly. “I will keep my word.”

 

Without hesitation she placed a lingering kiss on the other woman’s lips as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Some in the infirmary muttered in disapproval. Gwen just smiled to herself.

 

Morgause spent a few more minutes telling Morgana which spells to use and which were the best herbs. Most of which Morgana insisted she knew already yet she took the advice with indulgent patience. Finally with a last squeeze of Morgana’s hand, a bid for her to protect herself wisely and even a nod to Gwen, Morgause left to join Arthur in the courtyard.

 

“It’s clear how much she loves you,” Gwen said warmly as she moved closer again. “You’re lucky to have that.”

 

“I know,” Morgana agreed with a distant look in her eyes, mind elsewhere for a moment. Then after a pause she returned to wrapping poultices, but sparred a sideways glance at Gwen. “You know, I never did think Arthur would stop being a typical knight long enough to love anyone but himself. I thought he’d be married off to some pretty little princess who swooned pleasing for him.”

 

It sounded like a dig, but there was a hint of old amusement in her eyes.

 

“Believe me,” Gwen smiled, deciding to see the best in the comment, “no one’s more surprised than me.”

 

Morgana’s returning smile was wider than Gwen would’ve imagined, but it faded as a horn sounded outside, blasting five times; Lot’s army was in sight.

 

**********************

 

Morgause quickened her pace as the horn sounded and she reached Arthur’s side just as the fifth blast faded away.  The courtyard was surprisingly silent, the air thick with tense anticipation as all awaited their fate. The only sound came from the men hurrying to light braziers. The sun was well set now and the fire light necessary even if it may prove a danger in the thick of battle.

 

Arthur had hoped Lot might wait until morning to attack but he obviously didn’t want to give Camelot any extra time to mount a more feasible defence.

 

The firelight played long shadows across the assembled forces, almost acting like a mask across the face of every man. The faceless hundreds who’d sworn to protect their city and its inhabitants. In front of them, the now ruined walls were littered with large gaps and the fallen rubble had been placed to give some sort of barrier for the attacking men to climb over. It wasn’t much though and as they spotted the opposing army marching into view, Arthur took a deep, tense breath.

 

“I hate to rush you,” he murmured dryly to Morgause, “but your plan…”

 

“Not yet,” she reasoned, watching the men in the distance with hawk’s eyes. “Wait until they’re committed.”

 

Arthur nodded in acceptance, agreeing with that even if his instinct demanded he protect the city immediately.

 

Fortunately for his nerves, he didn’t have to wait long.

 

Lot’s war horn gave three, sharp blasts and the army facing them charged. If it was meant to be an exercise in intimidation, it worked. Arthur could feel it in the ground and hear their cries of attack as they rushed towards them. He quashed the urge to charge into action himself and remained calm, taking stock. Taking that feeling of concern and turning it into defiance. They wouldn’t fall to such over confidence, he swore to himself. He’d make Lot rue his arrogance.

 

“He’s committed virtually his whole force,” he said to Morgause, having to raise his voice louder to be heard this time over the charge coming towards them.

 

“Good,” she said with a cold grin. She waited only moments longer, truly giving them no chance to change their minds, before she said her spell. A green flare streaked up into the dark, clouded sky.

 

Not far away, Gwaine was holding his hand over one of the three wells, a pouch of herbs resting in his glove. The flare was his signal.

 

“Now!” he shouted to the others, although they’d most likely seen it too and acted without his encouragement.

 

He dropped the pouch and made a hurried retreat back, just like Morgause had said he should. A new rumbling joined that of the rapidly approaching army, but much closer this time, beneath their very feet, and near everyone’s attention was captured a moment.

 

As if they’d been held down there by an invisible force that’d suddenly let go, thick vines burst from each of the wells, shooting up a good dozen feet in the air. The force of it was enough to crack the cobbled floor around them and Morgause was fierce in her effort to control them. The vines twisted as though fighting her control, but she was stronger and they seemed to realise it, falling into order, shooting forwards and twining around the remnants of the wall

 

Within moments, there was a six foot barrier facing the approaching army and they were far too advanced to fall back and rethink their attack. Ready for the moment, Camelot archers rained arrows down from any vantage point they could find.

 

Lot had committed himself and now he had to win in this assault.

 

From the shadows, Merlin nodded in approval. The barrier wouldn’t last forever - nor for very long in all honesty - but it may give the extra advantage and time that Camelot needed.

 

Quickly, he slipped away, the ring Morgana had given him clutched in his hand.

 

Arthur could handle Lot. He had to deal with Mordred.


	21. Chapter 21

The opposing soldiers hacked viciously and wildly at the vines keeping them out of Camelot. Arthur hadn’t been entirely sure how effective such a barrier would be, but the plants were thick and difficult to cut through. Some men were climbing over but that was slow going when faced with the rubble on the other side too. It made them an easy target for the archers, easy to keep most at bay before they even reached the knights. Those who did were vastly outnumbered and dealt with quickly. Lot’s army needed to get more men through more quickly or find themselves slaughtered. And so his commanders ordered them to keep cutting, wasting precious time and blunting their swords, both advantages for Camelot.

 

Arthur quickly sent another unit of archers in, knowing it was a risk to send them so close to the line but trying to take out as many men as he could whilst they were so exposed. Numbers were key here with such a tight balance of power and he’d take any opportunity he could to tip it in his favour.

 

He was hurriedly organising his defencive troops when a hand landed on his shoulder.

 

“Go!” Morgause insisted without room for discussion. “Whilst you have the chance and their focus is held! Your man and I will continue here!”

 

Arthur looked up to Sir Leon who swiftly nodded in agreement. No one could see Arthur slip away or they risked losing any surprise they might have.

 

“Gwaine!” Arthur shouted out and the other man didn’t need any more words to understand what that command meant. He grabbed Elyan’s shoulder, nudging Percival too, half a dozen other knights following them as they made their way to the king’s side.

 

“You have to protect the Great Hall,” Arthur reminded Morgause and Leon hurriedly. “And the infirmary.”

 

Morgause’s look was resolute.

 

“I have no intention of letting them get there.”

 

Arthur nodded in curt thanks, resting a hand on her shoulder for a moment which she accepted with good grace. He didn’t really know how to talk to her, how to be with her still, but she seemed to understand his meaning well enough.

 

“Now hurry!” she insisted - very much the commanding elder sister in that moment - shrugging him off and turning back to the battle, sword raised. “And do not forget those cloaks.”

 

Arthur didn’t look back even when he thought he heard some of the vines giving way, knowing he had to trust Morgause and Leon to do what they could, that he couldn’t be everywhere at once. Instead he led his small band of men through the back streets, along the route they’d planned, tucked between the buildings and well out of sight of any sentries or eagle eyed soldiers that might give their flight away. The cloaks she’d spoken of were hidden in the stables, stuffed inside nondescript looking barrels. Arthur and Elyan quickly unpacked them, passing one to each man. As soon as they put them on, the effect was subtle but instant. It was like the man’s outline became suddenly hard to see, as if he blended into his surroundings and your eye wandered like it didn’t even want to acknowledge his presence. They’d have to remove them when it came to fighting of course, the effect would be too disorientating, but they’d certainly help in getting to Lot unseen.

 

Following Arthur’s lead, the group broke down a storm grill and headed out of the city.

 

********************

 

“The barriers are gone already?” Gwen asked worriedly as two young men carried in the first casualty. By the sounds of it, others were to quickly follow.

 

“There’s gaps,” the first man said breathlessly as they lay their charge down on the nearest cot. He was a volunteer, one of many men and women who weren’t fighters but who’d offered to help in any way they could. Their willingness to do what they could instead of just waiting it out in the Great Hall had touched Gwen deeply. They didn’t need to put themselves at risk but they wanted to protect their city. They wanted to do what they could for their king as he fought for them. That was the heart of Camelot in her eyes.

 

“Then the battle starts properly,” Gwen declared mostly to herself with a determined sigh, already tearing bandage for the injured knight’s wounds. She looked up at the volunteers again. “Bring back as many of the injured as you can but keep yourself safe, don’t take any risks.”

 

“Yes, my lady,” the man nodded before hurrying off again. Somehow she doubted he’d heed her warning.

 

Her maid, another of the volunteers, brought her more cloth and Gwen tried to smile at her in reassurance. She wasn’t sure she quite managed it.

 

Morgana swiftly joined her, leaning over and checking the man’s wounds - a gaping gash in his side - and looked grave, preparing to heal them herself. Gaius intervened though, a hand clutching her wrist.

 

“You should concentrate on the least injured,” he instructed.

 

Perhaps she thought his manner was patronising or didn’t like his close presence still, but Morgana reacted poorly to the suggestion.

 

“I think the worst need my skills most desperately,” she countered, snatching her arm back.

 

“Anyone you can heal well enough can go back out and fight and you’ll exhaust yourself if you work on everyone,” Gaius explained with patience, applying a mash of herbs to the man’s wounds instead, ready for Gwen to cover with bandages. He was severely injured. “We need as many back out there as possible. Concentrate on leg and arm wounds. Gwen, the maids and I will do what we can for the others.”

 

Morgana clearly didn’t like it but she wasn’t able to argue with his reasoning, nodding tightly and going to see which of the new arrivals she could help.

 

Beside the door, Aithusa sat like a silent sentinel, watching the corridor outside with extreme focus in her impossibly blue eyes. Morgana had tried to send her outside, telling her to go and help Morgause, but the dragon would have none of it. It was her job to protect Morgana and that was where she would stay.

 

**********************

 

Morgause had known the vines wouldn’t hold forever, but she’d hoped for a little longer. At least this Leon was bright enough, keeping a careful eye on the situation and pulling back the archers just in time. And Lot wasn’t using siege weapons, which was a definite blessing as far as casualties were concerned. After all, he hoped to claim Camelot, not destroy it entirely and he’d be risking his own men too, something he couldn’t afford in this precariously balanced battle.

 

The knights readied into a well learnt formation as the attacking soldiers poured between the gap they’d finally made, forcing it larger as they went. Morgause joined the ranks of the fighting men of Camelot, making her own space, slipping in beside Leon.

 

He looked at her for a moment and nodded. In thanks? Acceptance? She didn’t really know but she’d no time to ponder as the first of the attackers was on her. He wasn’t hard to take out - she was a skilled swords-woman, trained by the warrior priests she’d grown up with - but she knew he was only one of many. Her strokes were efficient and certainly not lavish. Her assailant seemed to look surprised to be felled by a woman with flowing blonde hair and an almost delicate frame. She was quite unlike any warrior he’d ever seen and he’d underestimated her. The men that came after him wouldn’t make the same mistake.

 

As soldiers began to fall in greater numbers on both sides Morgause knew that, however well the men of Camelot fought, it may not be enough. The battle sat on a knife’s edge and even she, with all her experience, couldn’t guess how it would unfold.

 

Up on the hill, Mordred watched what happened beneath him dispassionately. Lot and his men were on horseback a short distance away but he preferred to simply stand with the feel of grass under his shoes.

 

And to be a little out of sight of the king’s gaze.

 

He hesitated a moment to watch the other men’s faces, the lords occasionally sharing worried glances and Lot’s tension highlighted by the shadows of the camp fire which illuminated him. His confidence had faltered when the magical barrier had formed and now he was silent, no longer boasting of what his first orders as King of Camelot would be. It’d been a clever trick, Mordred had to admit, and surely the work of the High Priestess. He’d no quarrel with them - he and they were as different as oil and water and he’d no intention of trying to mix with them - but they’d do well to stay out of his path. Even Morgana, however much he held a phantom of care for her. Nothing could come between him and his destiny.

 

As soon as the barrier fell, Mordred began to walk, leaving the camp and heading towards Camelot alone.

 

Down to the carnage where he belonged.

 

**********************

 

Lot had a deep scowl on his face which he tried to feign as irritation to hide the worry he felt in his gut. Camelot was supposed to be near defenceless - he never would’ve committed all his forces so quickly if that wasn’t the case - and he’d lost far more men in the initial assault than he would’ve liked.  Things were dangerously uncertain now and the dissenting voices from his own camp played back in his ears. If he lost this battle, those voices would become louder and more would join their cause. The barrier may be mostly down now but they couldn’t afford any encumbrance when things were so delicately balanced.

 

“Where’s Mordred?” he snapped to the lord sitting on the horse next to his. The man knew when his king was in no mood to be trifled with and hurried off to find out.

 

He returned shortly with an apologetic and somewhat fearful look on his face. Lot had a reputation for taking things out on the person who bore ill news.

 

“I’m sorry, Sire,” he announced with a tremor edging his voice. “He’s gone. The boy’s nowhere to be found.”

 

Lot let out a harsh curse and his horse shifted beneath him, unsettled. Damn that boy! He’d promised victory here!

 

Huffing a short breath, Lot tried to gather himself, knowing how important it was that he continued to show self belief.

 

“It doesn’t matter any way,” he reasoned, refusing to give in to thought of defeat. “They’re only plants, they’ll all be gone quick enough.”

 

If any of the men disagreed with his assessment, they didn’t have the courage to speak up.

 

“This is the work of magic,” the lord pointed out, perhaps hoping to divert Lot’s anger to somewhere he considered safer. “The sorceress must have betrayed us.”

 

Lot snorted a laugh.

 

“You think I relied on her word?” It would’ve been a nice bonus but he’d very much planned to take Camelot without her help. “You think I believed her?”

 

The lord shook his head, rushing to show he didn’t think his king would be so foolish.

 

“I’ll ensure she’s captured and brought to you, Sire,” he immediately promised, a placating offer.

 

Lot smiled cruelly. It was the first smile he’d felt like giving since the start of this battle, the idea of Lady Morgana on her knees before him bringing him a certain amount of pleasure.

 

“Oh please do, and make it known I want her unharmed. She’s a beautiful woman, after all.” He laughed to himself then and his horse shifted again. “Perhaps I’ll take her to wife, eh? She does have a claim to the throne of Camelot and no one would be able to argue the rights of our children when Arthur’s dead. And, if she’s not agreeable, maybe that sister she spoke of instead.”

 

Lot’s men laughed with him although whether that was because they shared his cold amusement or because they thought they should, was hard to tell.

 

Someone certainly not laughing was Arthur. He and his small troop were hidden in the undergrowth a dozen feet away, crouched down behind the party having sneaked up the opposite side of the hill, the cloaks keeping them out of view of the few sentries that’d remained. Caution was utterly necessary; he didn’t want to leave Camelot under attack for long but if he struck too soon, without ensuring it was the opportune moment, then he risked ruining everything. And Lot’s private guard was much larger than he’d hoped. An all out assault was likely to end in failure.

 

He’d been a mixture of pleased and concerned to hear that Mordred was gone. Pleased he wouldn’t have to face the boy sorcerer but worried about where he might be and what he might be doing. As Lot began to speak of Morgana though, Arthur felt a different tension rise in him, making his shoulders tight. The protective brother still.

 

“He certainly doesn’t know your sisters very well if he thinks they’d make good wives,” Gwaine whispered, joking to try and ease away some of that tension as he rested a hand on Arthur’s hunched shoulder. He nodded towards the group in front of them. “The man on the grey gelding at the back; he doesn’t seem to be as into this as the others are.”

 

That was true. Whilst the others laughed nervously, he was stony faced and troubled looking. Perhaps he was the man Morgana had spoken of. He certainly matched her description. Anir, his name was meant to be.

 

“Should we make our move?” Elyan asked, the impatience in his voice an indication of how just waiting here like this suited none of them. They were men of action and their friends and loved ones could be dying down there.

 

Arthur looked at him, looked at them all. They were all good men, some of his best and smartest fighters, that’s why they were here. But they were also very outnumbered and a blunt, reckless attack could lead to any or all of their deaths very swiftly. What other choice did he have though?

 

If he did nothing, Camelot would fall.

 

**********************

 

Mordred’s footfalls were soft against the grass as he moved steadily and unhurried towards the sound of clashing swords, shouting men and roaring flames. It was the mixed cacophony of the heat of fierce battle and any creature of sense would have run from it.

 

His cloak hung utterly still behind him as he walked, unnaturally so, and it gave him the look of a spirit or fae being as he all but glided through the countryside. It was like nature herself parted to let him through. Like she didn’t dare touch him.

 

Suddenly and without a hint of forethought, he stopped, complete and sudden as if grabbed by an invisible force from behind. For a moment he remained entirely still and then slowly, a slight frown of curiosity on his face, he turned his head and glanced back the way he came.

 

His expression didn’t seem to change, his countenance not faltering, but it was like he caught a whisper of something on the wind. How a hungry animal might react if it got scent of prey on the breeze. Turning fully, he headed back up the hill.

 

Merlin, who’d been lying in wait for him a hundred yards away with the ring clutched tight in his hand, cursed and got up quickly to follow.

 

***********************

 

The battle raged on and no one had any sense now how long they'd been fighting. Hours maybe? It was certainly beginning to feel like it. Under the constant stream of attacks it was hard to tell. All the men of Camelot knew, as they formed a human barrier behind the rough rubble ones they’d erected, was a ceaseless blur of violence. Injured and exhausted, soldiers continually fell back, letting their fresher colleagues replace them, knowing that even the best of them couldn’t carry on without rest. Fewer and fewer replacements were available though, even as some of the healed men ran back from the infirmary to join the fight again.

 

Even Leon and Morgause needed a break. Young boys - who’d been told to stay away from the battle itself, but who also clearly knew that no one would have time to berate them in the midst of it - rushed over and handed them skeins of water which they took gratefully as they removed themselves from the front lines. Leon kept encouraging his men, telling them they were fighting for Camelot and their home, telling them to remember that and the honour of their king who fought for them still.

 

Morgause took a more practical route, pulling a piece of what looked like dried meat from her tunic, tearing it in half and passing one of them to Arthur’s knight whilst instructing him to eat it to help restore his strength. He turned it over, considering curiously for just a moment before he ate without question. Immediately upon finishing he declared himself refreshed and ready to return to battle. Morgause admired his spirit but she knew it wouldn’t be enough.

 

More men were coming through now, purposely going after the buildings and setting them alight. Small units of knights were immediately dispatched to deal with these rogues and to defend the townsfolk who worked on extinguishing the flames. Whilst Morgause could see the merit in it, she saw something else too; an army spread too thin and with no right choice in front of it. Abandon the buildings and let huge parts of the city burn - leaving any survivors impoverished and risking lives if the flames spread - or protect what they could and leave  themselves open to being overwhelmed by more concentrated attacks. Neither strategy seemed likely to succeed at the moment and as she lifted her sword and returned to the fray, she found herself hoping that Arthur really was the man Morgana had once told her he was.

 

In the infirmary, Gwen - hair awry, face covered in perspiration - yanked Morgana aside, pushing a goblet of water into her hands.

 

“Drink,” she insisted hurriedly.

 

“I don’t have time.”

 

More men were being brought it as they spoke, Gaius directing the carries to where the free beds were. And asking them to take some of the bodies away to make more room.

 

“Drink!” Gwen insisted again, her tone demanding. “You look exhausted.”

 

Morgana had always been pale but now she was looking positively ashen. Hardly a surprise considering she’d been constantly healing men for an hour or more. Gwen didn’t know exactly how magic worked but she guessed there was some sort of physical toll on the body and it was starting to show in Morgana. A drink of water wasn’t exactly going to help that but it at least gave her a moment’s rest. From a purely mercenary point of view, they needed her functional for as long as possible. From a more personal one, Gwen was worried about her; she knew Morgana’s stubbornness and knew she’d work herself to collapse just to make a point.

 

For whatever reason - agreement or simply not wanting to bother with arguing - Morgana relented, nodding in gratitude and quickly downing the water.

 

“We can’t carry on like this all night,” she said quietly to Gwen, genuine worry in her eyes. It was one of the few moments of genuine, open sentiment Gwen had seen from her since her return. Too bad it took a deadly battle to bring it out.

 

Gwen just looked at her steadily. She was well aware of that too. They were keeping control here by a thread as it was but were on the brink of being overwhelmed. She didn’t know how things were progressing outside, nor was she sure she wanted to know. And as for where Arthur was, whether he’d made his move yet, whether he was even alive…

 

“We just have to keep going as long as we can,” she said, drawing on all her strength. Without thinking she gave Morgana’s hand a squeeze, everything from the past forgotten in that moment.

 

It helped that Morgana squeezed her hand very slightly back.


	22. Chapter 22

Merlin was breathing harder as he reached the top of the steep hill - he really did need to get himself in better shape - using magic to stay out of sight of the sentries. And then using it to viciously knock them from their perches when he spotted them before they did him. There seemed little point in him being cautious with his powers now and, remembering Arthur’s plan, he only hoped that removing the sentries proved a help.

 

What wasn’t helping was that he’d lost sight of Mordred again. He knew the boy had headed up this way and he knew he hadn’t turned back - the ring helped him work that much out at least - but he’d no idea where exactly he’d disappeared to. He remembered distinctly how Mordred had appeared so suddenly behind him at the wall a few short days ago and he wondered what kind of power that was. It made him very cautious indeed.

 

Which was why when he spotted Arthur and the others crouching down out of sight - their outlines appeared somehow odd and he assumed there was magic involved although he could see right through it - he almost decided to head in the opposite direction. He didn’t want to lead Mordred right to them. But, he reasoned swiftly, if Mordred was nearby then chances were he already knew where they were anyway and the fact that Arthur was kneeling behind a bush and not attacking suggested there was a problem.

 

Merlin moved swiftly and silently over, so much so that when he tapped Gwaine on the shoulder the usually perceptive knight visibly jumped, drawing his sword and pointing it at his friend’s chest before he realised who the ‘attacker’ was.

 

“Bloody hell, Merlin!” he scolded in a hard whisper, drawing the sword back again.

 

From the look on Arthur’s face though, he’d rather Gwaine had kept it there.

 

“What are you doing here?” he whispered harshly, anger in his tone. Stressed by the situation and now having an easy target to take it out on.

 

“Helping you,” Merlin mumbled, defencive at Arthur’s tone and stubborn with it. He half ignored the king, looking through the bushes to see what the problem was instead. Yes, the guard protecting Lot was at least twice as strong as the unit Arthur had brought with him. The numbers needed to be evened a little for Arthur to stand a decent chance.

 

Arthur however was still too caught up in his own moment of anger to appreciate that Merlin may have a solution for him.

 

“I said I didn’t want your help!” he bit back automatically in retort, a viciousness to his words.

 

Whether it was the stress of what was going on, the weight of trying to be gracious in the face of constant accusations or the fact that he wasn’t sure that he’d even make it beyond this night alive away, Merlin’s patience finally ran out.

 

“Oh…go shove it!” he exclaimed as loudly as he dared, scowling at Arthur fiercely.

 

Arthur’s eyes widened, Gwaine and Elyan sharing a look of disbelief.

 

“Excuse me?” Arthur asked with indignation.

 

“You heard me,” Merlin bit back with greater confidence. “I’ve helped you all these years, I’m not going to stand by and let you go and get yourself killed now just because you’re having a sulk with me!”

 

Not even bothering to explain - and Arthur stunned into momentary silence - Merlin turned to face down the hill. He murmured a spell and his eyes glowed brilliant gold. No one had a chance to ask what he’d done before the cry went up from one of Lot’s men.

 

“Sire! By the east wall! Queen Guinevere is escaping!”

 

Arthur’s eyes widened and he tried to rise to see for himself, but Merlin pushed him back down, giving him a very meaningful look. Even in their current combative state, Arthur quickly realised what he was silently being told and the dawn of realisation spread across his face.

 

“Go!” Lot ordered immediately, pouncing on the opportunity. “Don’t let her escape! I want that bitch brought before me for what she did! She’ll pay for it yet!”

 

Arthur’s jaw set in a tight line and Merlin smiled to himself. That was Lot’s first mistake. His second was sending the right flank of his guard - half his men - off after the phantom Merlin had created.

 

With any luck it’d prove fatal.

 

As soon as they were off down the hill, not knowing how long they had before the guard realised it was a trick, Arthur shrugged off his cloak, his men following his lead. He paused only to nod in acknowledgement at Merlin and then led the charge of what would be a swift and brutal attack.

 

As they ran from the bushes their cries startled the horses, many of which tossed and reared. These were lord’s riding horses, not hardened battle mounts and were easy to scare. Their riders tried to turn to face the surprise oncoming attackers, but that was difficult when the animals beneath them were bucking wildly. Taking advantage, two men were pulled down and disposed of before they could even draw their swords. Two more fell, one quickly run through by Gwaine, another trampled by his own mount as its frantic hooves thundered back down.

 

The rest managed to control their horses and turned to properly face Arthur and his men. Fortunately, Arthur was seasoned in battle and his mind was sharp. He didn’t risk being rode down, getting quickly amongst the horses instead. Not a perfect approach he knew, one of his men paying the price for it immediately as he was crushed between two of the animals, but it was preferable to the alternative. Their strategy was decided without a word being spoken; the rest of the men took out who they could whilst Arthur went straight for Lot.

 

The man on the grey gelding was to be captured unharmed.

 

There was fury in the older king’s eyes has he saw Arthur charging towards him. He drew his large, heavy sword and hollered, rearing his horse in dire warning. Arthur swiftly dodged the flailing hooves, moving to the side and immediately blocking the vicious downward swing of Lot’s sword. Knowing he was at a severe disadvantage, Arthur opted for subterfuge, swiping his sword at Lot in a one handed attack that was easily blocked but using the other man’s distraction to pull a knife from his belt and aim it at Lot’s thigh. It didn’t connect how Arthur had hoped, Lot seeing the blade at the last moment and twisting so it deflected off the plate on his thigh. It caused a flesh wound but not the grievous blow Arthur had aimed for. He only hesitated a moment to decide what to do next, but Arthur was almost instantly knocked back by a fierce kick to the face, falling onto the muddied ground whilst the dagger skittered out of his grasp. Despite a bleeding nose and a spinning head he hauled himself to his feet at once, knowing that otherwise he was just a target for crushing hooves.

 

Other battles went on around him but Arthur didn’t look - he couldn’t - his gaze totally focused on Lot.

 

Still over by the bushes, Merlin quashed every instinct inside him that told him to help. Arthur had to do this for himself. He could do this for himself.

 

The young king raised his sword warily in defence, slowing a moment and waiting for Lot’s next move as he decided to react rather than act this time. Arthur was relying on Lot’s rage - the older man obviously didn’t take being fooled well and this assault had struck him entirely by surprise - and that turned out to be a sound tactic. Angered further when Arthur didn’t present him with the reckless counter he’d hoped youth and inexperience would lead him to, Lot roared, charging at him again. Arthur twisted and deflected the blow with ease but he was thinking far further ahead than just the next attack. Lot’s momentum took him past Arthur and the young king span swiftly after his deflection, cutting clean through the straps on Lot’s saddle. As soon as he tried to turn, Lot king fell when the saddle slid, the older king not realising what’d happened until it was too late.

 

A confusion of horses and fighting men blocked Arthur’s path and Lot was already on his feet again, sword still in hand, by the time Arthur reached him.

 

The battle was swift, brutal and bloody. Arthur was a famed, skilled fighter who had youth on his side, but Lot was hardly an old man. He didn’t have Arthur’s finesse but he made up for it with ragged strength, matching Camelot’s king blow for blow. Several gashes joined the one on his leg as he fought but nothing seemed to make him falter, running on a mixture of righteous anger and the fear of death. Swords locked, the pair of them grappling, Arthur resorting to a savage head butt to part them which sent him staggering back too.

 

Lot smiled at him, even with the blood pouring from his nose. Perhaps he thought he had the upper hand if Arthur was going to fall back on such desperate measures.

 

But Arthur had just needed space.

 

“Gwaine!”

 

The other knight was holding the reigns of the grey gelding, guarding the now unarmed man, and he reacted instantly at Arthur’s look and shout, understanding the unspoken command. He threw his sword with perfect aim, Arthur snatching out of mid air with dexterity.

 

When Lot charged again, seeing what Arthur was doing and trying to get to him before the sword did, he presented the perfect target. Arthur defended himself with one blade and stabbed the other right through Lot’s stomach, angling it up to aim for his heart.

 

He wanted to be very sure.

 

Arthur knew he’d won when he saw the look on Lot’s face, wide eyed with shock. A man facing the death he’d never expected to come.

 

“I thought the great King Arthur was known for his mercy?” Lot choked out, words broken as though trying to speak around the sword in his gut. Mocking Arthur until the last.

 

“You threatened my kingdom, my wife and my sister,” he replied stonily. “There’s limits to my mercy.”

 

He yanked the sword back out again and Lot fell. He was dead shortly after, gasping out his last on the muddy ground.

 

Hardly feeling victorious yet, a hard breathing Arthur with wounds that stung painfully and a body that ached, took a moment to survey the situation. They’d won with but a few losses, the best they could’ve hoped for. The only surviving one of Lot’s men was the man riding the grey.

 

Who obviously didn’t see a reason why they’d keep him alive and decided to risk it against his unarmed and currently distracted guard. He kicked wildly out at Gwaine, catching him on the cheek. The shock of it more than anything made Gwaine let go of the reigns to clutch at his face and the man didn’t hesitate, turning his horse and riding madly away.

 

“We have to get him!” Arthur shouted, moving to pursue in an instant despite his wounds and exhaustion. He headed directly for one of the other horses. “We need that retreat sounded!”

 

He’d half mounted the animal when suddenly he flew unnaturally backwards, landing on the ground with a hard thud which knocked the wind right out of him. Alarmed, Merlin - who’d been basking in relief along with everyone else - turned directly towards where his senses told him that attack had come from.

 

Mordred stood at the edge of the clearing, eyes filled with cold intent.

 

Arthur was too dazed to realise what’d happened, dragging himself to his feet, trying to breathe off the pain. Mordred wasted no time in taking advantage of his distraction, marching a few meaningful paces forward and intending to shove the king back to the ground again.

 

Only when he tried, his magic stopped like it’d hit a barrier and Merlin was looking at him with utter fury on his face.

 

Unperturbed, Mordred raised a sword in the air without a gesture or words, his eyes glowing fiercely. A challenge to Merlin as he aimed the blade directly at Arthur. It disintegrated to dust before it’d gone more than a few feet.

 

Everyone had turned to look at them.

 

“Go,” Merlin insisted, calm and deadly, eyes fixed on Mordred even though he was addressing Arthur.

 

“But-” Arthur began before he was quickly cut off.

 

“You need to get after that man,” Merlin reminded him, voice low and attention rooted on the boy. “Go! All of you!”

 

Arthur didn’t argue again, quickly moving to mount the horse. Gwaine, Elyan and the others followed suit.

 

Merlin vaguely heard the sounds of hooves disappearing into the distance but he kept his focus firmly on Mordred, not giving him a moment to act unseen until Arthur was safely away. Then he walked around in a steady arc, avoiding the bodies on the ground without even having to look, coming to stand in front of the boy.

 

“It’s over, Mordred,” he said with a commanding tone. “Lot’s dead. Leave.”

 

Merlin had learnt from painful lessons that he couldn’t just take down his enemies without a second thought. His conscience wouldn’t allow him to rest if he didn’t give Mordred one chance to make the right decision.

 

Mordred didn’t seem angry or concerned.

 

“If you let me go now, I will come back and kill Arthur,” he said, quite calmly. It wasn’t a promise or threat, just stated as a simple fact.

 

Slowly though, Mordred smiled and it was one of the most chilling things Merlin had ever seen, the dark depths of the look beyond anything he thought possible. It was then that he understood what Morgause had meant when she said that their powers came from the dark places. He could see it now, alive and deadly in Mordred’s eyes.

 

“I’ll rip Camelot down,” Mordred continued, voice curling around the words with relish. “Just as I’m meant to.”

 

For the first time, he actually seemed to be enjoying this.

 

“Prophecy isn’t set in stone,” Merlin countered, remaining calm in the face of the deepest provocation. “You don’t have to do anything.”

 

It was an attempt at reasoning but in his heart he knew that Mordred was beyond reason now. If he’d ever been open to it in the first place.

 

“And yet you’ve fought to uphold prophecy,” Mordred pointed out. “Murdered to uphold it. Does that make you a hypocrite or a fool?”

 

So much for chances…Merlin was tired of these games.

 

“I won’t let you kill Arthur,” he said firmly. That was all that mattered when it came down to it. If the boy chose to fight him, to see this through to the brutal end then so be it. Merlin only had so much mercy to give.

 

“Then you’re going to have to kill me,” Mordred confirmed with the lightest of shrugs. “You had no problem leaving me to face death as a small boy, I don’t see why you’d hesitate now.”

 

This time Merlin didn’t, throwing the first attack.

 

*********************

 

Arthur rode the horse hard, thanking god that the clouds had parted and the moon was shining; it made the fleeing lord far easier to spot as he galloped across the open field. Even so they were running out of time. He was heading for the dense woodland and if he reached it then he might never be found. Or at least not in time to save Camelot. This chase was do or die for many.

 

The knights were close behind him but with the weight of responsibility - the recognition that every life still in Camelot was relying upon him - Arthur was spurned on to greater speed, finding something in his horse that the others didn’t. He raced ahead of the rest, catching the man at lightning pace but still fearful that it wouldn’t be enough.

 

He couldn’t fail. He couldn’t.

 

Only feet from the woodland boundary and desperate, he waited until he judged it close enough and then positively launched himself at the other horse, barrelling into the rider and pulling him to the ground. The thick grass was soft but the landing hurt all the same even as he rolled to protect them both. Arthur was used to physical pain though and he pushed through it, rising swiftly to his feet and drawing his sword, pressing it to the startled man’s throat.

 

“I have a proposition for you,” he began between heavy breaths. “I suggest you accept it.”

 

*********************

 

Arthur had instructed a small group of men to guard the infirmary - and Gwen - but as soon as she’d heard about how desperate things were becoming in the courtyard, she’d ordered them to go there and help. There was no point in the infirmary remaining safe for a few moments longer if the battle outside was lost. Besides, she knew it was what Arthur would have wanted; he had to value the safety of Camelot above the life of one person, even his wife.

 

Morgana still moved unsteadily between the beds, healing what she could but finding more and more wounds beyond her current strength. Before long she would have to take some rest, right when they could least afford it.

 

Most of her thoughts though were occupied by Morgause. She could feel the link between them still and was using it as a reassurance that her precious sister was still alive. But how much longer could the soldiers in the courtyard hold it? Surely they should fall back now to a stronger position before it was too late?

 

If there was anywhere safe now that they could fall back to.

 

Her conflict made her head hurt; she really didn’t want Camelot to fall like this but she wanted Morgause alive far more, knowing where her priorities ultimately lay. It was almost a relief to be distracted by the sudden sound of screaming close by , the roar of attack and the clash of swords. That was until she realised what it truly was. Everyone looked up then and stilled a moment, wondering if that really meant what they all thought and feared. But the sound was unmistakable; the battle was coming to them.

 

Gaius immediately handed weapons to the able men and women, telling them they must defend themselves whilst instructing others to bar the door with what they could find. It was a flimsy barrier and wouldn’t hold long but it was better than nothing at all. And, in such a tight battle, mere moments could be the difference between the life and death of many.

 

Prepared for this possibility, Gwen reached under a bench where she’d earlier stashed two good swords, tossing one to Morgana who caught it easily. Using further magic would exhaust her too quickly now but she still had great skill with a blade.

 

As Gaius helped to herd the injured back, Gwen and Morgana took up position a few feet from the door alongside several of the most capable men. The two women didn’t share a word of common intent, just a glance at each other. Morgana thought it was an accord of sorts.

 

“Remember how to fight?” she asked quietly, unable to remain silent as the first bash against the door made it groan.

 

“You taught me well,” Gwen replied with a fierce determination, readying herself.

 

Morgana let out a small laugh. “The good old days, hmm?”

 

“Sometimes.”

 

Aithusa stalked over, a low growl in her throat as she crouched at Morgana’s side, ready to pounce on the first attacker who appeared. Morgana glanced at the dragon. She’d become immensely fond of her.

 

And Gwen. She still cared for Gwen.

 

No, she decided with all her stubborn will, no more people she loved were going to die. She wasn’t going to die. Morgana took a deep breath, focusing her fight and strength, summoning the hate that’d fuelled her for so long and taking power from it. She wasn’t going to die here, not now, not after everything she’d been through and when there was hope on the horizon at last.

 

The door in front of them cracked, wood and hinges giving way from the sheer weight of the force behind it and Morgana raised her sword ready to meet them.

 

Aithusa leapt at the first group, fatally injuring several men in moments. Some tried to fight the dragon - she wisely didn’t use her fire in such an enclosed space - but many chose to avoid her, heading straight for the two women and their amateur guard of townsfolk instead. The first few got a nasty surprise as they underestimated the defenders skill, falling quickly to a few precise blade strokes. But the advantage of being thought weak was soon gone, and the next group were far more wary. Not a good thing when they were trained soldiers now looking for a distinct enemy weakness rather than acting recklessly.

 

The infirmary soon descended into chaos. Aithusa’s screeches of attack were mixed with the sound of clashing weapons. Several townsmen quickly discarded their blades, knowing their skill with them wasn’t good enough, ganging together to physically tackle soldiers to the ground instead. It was a messy, brutal tactic as they beat the downed enemy with whatever they could lay their hands on and took several blows in return themselves, some of them clearly fatal.

 

Morgana couldn’t help them though, too preoccupied with her own wellbeing as two men attacked her at once. One was bold, slashing at her wildly, but a slight shove of magic made him unsteady on his feet and she sliced clean and deep across his chest, blood blossoming from the wound as he fell. The second man was more cunning, trying to goad her into making a mistake or giving him an opening. He didn’t account for Gwen though, her sharp eyes seeing the man’s focus and taking advantage of it, running him through from behind with a fierce stab.

 

Automatically, like a dance they’d practised, the two women moved back to back, protecting each other from the men swarming around them. They were coping surprisingly well so far but Morgana knew they could only hold this for so long.

 

The sound of more running footsteps echoed down the corridor towards them and Morgana silently prayed to the Goddess that it was help, even though she knew it wouldn’t be.

 

***********************

 

Morgause realised in an instant that her sister was in danger. She felt it like a tingle on the back of her neck, telling her that her gaze should be elsewhere. She risked a glance back to the castle. It was perfectly possible that in the chaos some of the enemy had got passed them and were inside.

 

But, she also knew, as she faced another attacker with automatic precision, that there was no swift way to disengage here. The battle was brutal and hard, the two sides fighting man for man. She’d have to face a dozen assailants to even reach the entrance to the castle, let alone what awaited her inside. She could use magic to force them back and create a path for herself but there was no way to focus it on the enemy alone; Camelot men would be knocked over too and then be left vulnerable to attackers. Morgause had her honour and it was entirely against it to do such a thing when she’d sworn her aid. But if Morgana was even possibly at risk…

 

In the distance, as she agonised over what to do, she thought she heard a horn sounding.

 

Initially she dismissed it, thinking it a figment of her wishful imagination or simply a new command from Lot, but then it sounded again. And then again, taken up by a second horn, closer and louder this time. A third, a fourth, a fifth…soon a good dozen were  joining in, blasting the same six note sound.

 

The confusion amongst the attacking men was clear. They drew back a little, but still held a defencive stance, sharing looks amongst each other as though not a single man knew what to make of it.

 

It was their call of retreat.

 

“They’re being called home!” a battered and exhausted Sir Leon cried out to his own men, although a clear message to the others too. “Let them go if they fall back in peace!”

 

Morgause, having had time to gather herself and feel the relief that hope brought to her, was more direct.

 

“I suggest you heed your master’s call and leave whilst you still can,” she advised in a low, dangerous tone. She made herself look as menacing as she could, eyes glowing gold and hair whipping fiercely back.

 

It was all the encouragement they needed and as the first wave began to shuffle backwards, the commanders heeded the horn’s call and signalled the retreat, directing their men back over the wall and to their king. Their new king as they’d soon find out, Lot dead by Arthur’s hand and Lord Anir claiming he’d brokered a truce to save their lives and their land. Some would grumble but Anir was a fine politician and speaker; most would agree with his stance and his intention to make their kingdom great with alliance rather than risk tearing it apart by brutalising lands they couldn’t hope hold. He’d prove a popular king.

 

In the moment of relief that followed the end of the battle, Leon sat down and just had time to draw breath before Morgause took him by the shoulder and all but hauled him to his feet again.

 

“Come,” she commanded swiftly. “Your queen is in danger.”

 

By now Leon didn’t even question her - having gained a new respect for the woman in the past few hours - simply nodding sharply and quickly gathering together the least weary or injured of his men before following her into the castle. The sounds of fighting - and dragon’s call - could still be heard in the infirmary even though the retreat horns continued to blast strongly outside.

 

Morgause’s eyes narrowed to a scowl; those men would regret staying behind.

 

**********************

 

There was an odd thrill to how Mordred so easily turned away attack after attack, swiftly countering each with one of his own. Merlin thought he must be going half mad, but he couldn’t deny the way the blood and magic pumping through his veins made him feel so thoroughly alive as they battled fiercely on the open-topped hill.

 

The first spells he knew by heart - how to push away, how to throw, how to summon fire to attack. But as the battle wore on and he felt Mordred dismiss every one of those with ease, more spells came to his lips from only the gods knew where. It was like something drawn up from deep inside him, something old and deadly. Something instinctively powerful and Merlin played it like a master, directing it with a touch that was both fierce and deft.

 

He’d felt this once before, just a glimmer of it as he’d killed Agravaine. But this was like the beast set loose and the power curled through him like a black vine crawling from his heart. It was incredible, a rush like nothing else had ever been. And Merlin had once flown on dragon’s back through the crisp night air.

 

A dark force surged towards Mordred from Merlin’s outstretched palms and at last the boy staggered a bit, looking for a moment as if he was being suffocated by a black mist before he managed to force it back. There was perspiration on his brow now and a slight tremor in his hands but, in all contradiction to that, a smile came to his lips. A mockery of a smile really because there was nothing good behind it.

 

“I never thought you worthy of it.” He sounded almost excited. “I thought you’d never know it, never find that true power, but look at you.”

 

“You know I’d do anything to stop you,” Merlin said with a dark ferocity that wasn’t like him at all.

 

“There can be only one of us,” Mordred reminded him with an out of place solemnity. “It’s pleasing to know now you’re worthy of carrying that power.”

 

Angered - wanting to do nothing that would please Mordred - Merlin sent out a harder blast, knocking Mordred from his feet this time as the blackness seemed to try to devour the boy. It almost succeeded before he crawled his way out of it again.

 

In affront to his situation - sitting on the floor, half defeated and gasping - Mordred laughed.

 

“I never thought you could do it,” he said between sharp pants of breath. “But you will. You’ll take the power and the shape the world how we want.”

 

Merlin wasn’t truly sure whether he was gearing up for a killing blow but the spell, whatever it was, faltered on his lips when he heard those words.

 

“You’re completely mad! I don’t want the same as you,” he said in disgust. “I want things to be right!”

 

Mordred was still smiling, still gasping heavy breaths but he seemed excited again, eyes brightening wildly with it. “You want them to be how you want them. That’s how the power wants them. We’re slaves to it both, Merlin, at the mercy of its will. I thought you understood that by now. It works through us, just as its been trying to work through someone for centuries, only no man ever had the courage to see it through. To truly grasp it.”

 

Merlin looked horrified.

 

“That is not true,” he denied firmly and without hesitation, the idea frightening to the deepest level. To be told your will wasn’t your own…

 

“Kill me and you take ownership of it completely,” Mordred said, sounding perversely pleased. “It’ll be all yours and just think what you’ll accomplish.”

 

Merlin felt bile rising in his throat, burning it, the muscles clenching so it was almost hard to breathe. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to find peace in the chaos, trying to find something that felt good in all this.

 

He remembered Arthur, fighting for the life of every citizen in Camelot. Never surrendering.

 

“No,” he said quite calmly as he opened his eyes again. He didn’t realise it until then but it was as if a great fist had been inside him, clutching tightly, but at that word it simply let go. His shoulders dropped and his breath evened.

 

“No?” Mordred asked, a frown of confusion scarring his usually placid face.

 

“No,” Merlin repeated again. “I won’t. I’m no one’s slave. I’m Emrys and I’m here to help King Arthur bring peace to his kingdom for everyone to share. I’m not the lackey of some dark god or whatever it is you believe.”

 

Slowly, Mordred’s expression twisted in a horrible fashion, as though Merlin had said the most offensive thing he ever could. Then he let out an animalistic cry of pure rage, launching himself to his feet and sending an attack at Merlin that seemed to want to drive him from this world entirely. Merlin only just defended himself in time but the pain of it, the force, was agonising and as he collapsed to the floor Mordred looked down on him with merciless black eyes.

 

“You’re weak, Merlin,” he spat in a fury. “Your heart is weak and pathetic! This is why you’ll fail. This is why I have to take your place and do what we’re supposed to!”

 

On his knees, shaking like he was in a fever, Merlin didn’t know how he could withstand another one of those attacks.

 

Fire.

 

It burned through the night sky like a screeching banshee, illuminating them both more brightly than the camp fire ever could.

 

Even at the sound of great leathery wings and a roar of attack, it took an exhausted, weak Merlin a moment to realise what was going on. Mordred flew back hard when he was struck and Merlin’s view of him was blocked almost entirely as Kilgharrah landed with a heavy thud, putting himself between the boy and Merlin.

 

“Try your magic against me, young sorcerer,” he growled in fiercest anger. “Test your great powers against the dragon flames of old!”

 

Mordred looked furious but something else that Merlin was far more glad to see; he looked afraid.

 

Without another word, he ran, disappearing back into the forest.


	23. Chapter 23

“Sit,” Morgana commanded, deliberately blocking Gwen’s path as the other woman almost rushed by her again, going to fetch more bandages in order to tend to the steady stream of wounded that kept arriving.

 

“I don’t have time,” Gwen retorted in uncharacteristic irritation, not favouring any interruption that took focus off her task. There was still so much to be done.

 

Morgause and Leon had quickly helped them to mop up the last remaining attackers, Morgana sharing a brief, fierce embrace with the other woman before they all set back to work again. The battle was won but celebrations could wait; there were many injured to tend to, fires to bring under control and searches to be organised to ensure that Lot’s - or what were formally Lot’s - men really had all left. Not to mention that Arthur hadn’t returned home yet.

 

That’s why Gwen kept herself busy, not wanting to stop to contemplate what every moment he didn’t reappear might mean. She’d started imagining Elyan entering the room, carrying a tattered cloak and a look of sorrow and the notion was so horrible that she’d doubled her work effort in an attempt to push it away.

 

But now Morgana had stopped her, breaking her sheltering focus as she nodded at the gash on Gwen’s arm.

 

“You need that healed,” Morgana reasoned.

 

As if in agreement, Aithusa, who’d taken up her guard duty next to the door again, let out one of her reptilian purrs.

 

“It can wait,” Gwen commanded firmly, trying to move away.

 

Morgana simply arched an eyebrow at her tone. “You’re not my queen, you can’t order me around. Besides, you’ll work better if you’re not bleeding, now sit.”

 

Her hand was so hard on Gwen’s shoulder, forcing her to the bench seat, that it almost hurt. Not the best bedside manner Gwen had ever seen but she knew Morgana’s heart was in the right place. That immediately struck her as something she hadn’t believed about Morgana in a long time. Things certainly had changed these past few days.

 

Grateful more than cross now, Gwen looked up at her.

 

“Thank you,” she said quietly with a far softer expression than before. “For your help. Many more would’ve died today if it wasn’t for you.”

 

“Well,” Morgana pointed out, concentrating solely on the wound as she closed it, “as has been pointed out to me, I’ve much to make up for.”

 

There was a hint of world weary sarcasm there but Gwen knew Morgana well enough to hear the front she put on. Deciding to risk pushing through it, Gwen rested her hand on Morgana’s and it made the other woman look up with surprise.

 

“Thank you, Morgana,” Gwen said again, leaving her in no doubt the words were genuine.

 

Morgana’s face softened a little in light of that and she nodded.

 

The remnants of the door, hanging precariously on its hooks, burst open and then promptly fell off, causing half the room to glare at Leon as he entered briskly. His manner was too full of joy though for him to notice anything.

 

“The king, my lady!” he announced to Gwen. “He’s been spotted riding back!”

 

Gwen stood in a rush, drawing in a gasp of relief as a smile burst onto her face as she took her moment of joy too. But then, after allowing herself to feel it, she collected herself together again, knowing that the people here needed her far more. She couldn’t just rush off to meet him, no matter how much she wanted to.

 

“Tell him I’m here when he arrives,” she instructed gently and Leon nodded with an indulgent smile, seeming to understand her reason, and hurried off again.

 

When Arthur did finally stride into the room a short while later it was with a mixed expression of hope and worry on his face, like he wouldn’t quite believe the reports that Gwen was okay until he saw her for himself. When he did - her finishing with bandaging a wound and then standing quite still as she took in the sight of him with great relief - he strode across the room at something just short of a run, taking her into his arms and holding her as tight as he ever had. He kissed her soundly, not caring who saw or  grinned or giggled or tutted. Nothing could dampen this moment. He was home.

 

Morgana walked up silently.

 

“It’s all right,” he assured Gwen with a happy sigh, letting out a breath he felt he’d been holding for days. A rough gloved hand stroked her hair a moment as though checking she were real. “There’s going to be peace talks. The new King Anir has no interest in attacking us further.”

 

Gwen smiled, so happy and so very proud. “Well done.”

 

Arthur shook his head, looking around the infirmary at how many had been saved here.

 

“I think it’s you who deserves that praise.” He glanced to Morgana, hovering almost uncertainly nearby. ”Both of you.”

 

“I did what I had to,” Morgana replied, almost dismissively.

 

Arthur rolled his eyes and, without hesitating, he let go of Gwen and drew Morgana into an embrace instead. She was stiff in his arms for a moment but he didn’t let go and eventually her hands came to rest tentatively on his waist and she closed her eyes for a brief second.

 

It made Gwen smile; it felt like they were finally, truly reunited.

 

Parting from his sister, Arthur gave his thanks to Gaius too, the old physician smiling at him in acceptance as some of the conflict between them was dispelled in the happy light of victory. His thanks to Morgause was a little more formal - there were no embraces for her and nor did he think she’d welcome them - but he put a hand on her shoulder as he spoke to her.

 

“Your help was vital,” he acknowledged.

 

“And willingly given,” she assured him with a smile and a nod. An alliance secured.

 

Finally, Arthur drew a deep breath as though steadying and collecting himself, unable to believe how well things had gone and how fortunate they’d been in the circumstance. Then he turned back to where Leon still stood. There was only one thing still troubling him.

 

“Has anyone seen Merlin?”

 

***********************

 

Kilgharrah set him down on a hilltop overlooking the other side of Camelot just as dawn was breaking across the city. From this side - the one that hadn’t borne the brunt of the attack - the damage didn’t look quite so severe excepting the ragged, crumbled main wall. Merlin knew though that the repairs were going to take a long time and that would prove doubly hard as they headed into winter. There were many things they couldn’t get back either; lives and livelihoods lost.  Camelot was certainly crippled, he acknowledged, hardly the golden city of his dreams, but at least she was still standing. They could carry on from here. It could’ve been much worse.

 

Merlin knew that he should go home now, that he should go and check that his friends were all right and offer what help he could in the initial clean up. Yet he sat on the hill, looking over the city with his knees hugged to his chest and a troubled expression on his face.

 

Kilgharrah rested next to him in silence, waiting.

 

“I should have killed him when I had the chance,” Merlin finally said with hollow knowing. “I’ve just given him the time to go and get stronger. And when he does, he’ll come back to try to kill Arthur.”

 

“Probably,” Kilgharrah agreed with a nod of his great head.

 

Merlin glared at him.

 

“You’re never a comfort,” he complained.

 

“And you’re never grateful any more,” the dragon countered, arching an eyebrow. “I did just save your life.”

 

“Thanks,” Merlin said starkly, looking back at Camelot again.

 

A thoughtful silence once more descended between the pair of them but Merlin wouldn’t exactly call it harmonious. There were still many things he wanted to know.

 

“Was Mordred right?” he asked after a while. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to ask Kilgharrah these things anymore, nor whether he trusted the dragon’s answers as he once had, but he didn’t know who else he could ask. “He said the power inside me was controlling me. Making me do what it wanted.”

 

Kilgharrah regarded him for a moment.

 

“You are your power and your power is you,” he replied said sagely. “You cannot separate the two. It will try to guide you and you must guide it back in return. When you find that balance is when you’ll meet your full potential.”

 

“But how am I supposed to know who’s controlling who?” Merlin asked, not really comforted by that at all.

 

“Did you listen to a word I just said? It’s not about control, young wizard, it’s about harmony.”

 

“I’m not ‘young’,” Merlin protested, sounding almost grumpy.

 

“No,” Kilgharrah agreed with a smile that could be described as indulgent. “Not any more.”

 

Further silence.

 

“So am I supposed to just second guess all of my decisions from now on?” Merlin pondered aloud. “Make sure I definitely think it’s me in charge.”

 

Kilgharrah sighed.

 

“Your problem, Merlin, is that you think too much,” the dragon stated bluntly. “That’s why I withheld Morgana’s other destiny from you. You have a good heart and a mind prone to doubt. It won’t let you do the difficult things without question.” He looked at him more gravely. Pointedly. “And you won’t have things easy from here on out, mark my words. You will still have to do those difficult things, things that Arthur cannot and must not do. It’s the price you’ll pay to see the golden kingdom you desire.”

 

And as awful as that dire warning sounded, when Merlin looked over Camelot he knew somehow that it would be worth it. One question still plagued his mind though.

 

“And where will that path lead me?” he wondered aloud, not really expecting an answer. “What becomes of me at the end of it?”

 

Kilgharrah smiled, displaying his white teeth, an expression as cryptic as any he’d ever had.

 

“Ah, even I don’t have the answer to that. No one has ever been able to see that end.”

 

**********************

 

Arthur and Merlin stood opposite each other in the council chamber, regarding each other across the distance of the round table. The room had been restored to its previous state, ready for the upcoming peace talks. The infirmary meanwhile had been moved to somewhere nearer Gaius’s room to allowing him to better look after the remaining patients.

 

It was Gaius that Merlin had gone to see first in fact, hoping that Arthur’s ban on him entering the castle would be forgotten now. After a brief reunion - a hug of relief and a quick telling of what had happened to each - Gaius had informed him that Arthur was actually looking for him.

 

Merlin wanted to take that as a good sign but, remembering their argument on the hill, his uncertainty remained.

 

“Do you think he’s still angry?” he asked Gaius, not sure what the wrong answer might mean for his continued place in Camelot.

 

“I don’t know,” Gaius admitted. “But I suggest you don’t keep him waiting because I doubt that’ll help.”

 

Merlin had quickly managed to find Leon, the knight dashing to the king and then returning moments later to tell Merlin that Arthur would meet him in the council chambers shortly.

 

That was how they found themselves looking across a table at one another, two men of equal and different power trying to figure out where they stood now. It was a difficult prospect for both.

 

“I do understand what you’ve done,” Arthur eventually spoke. “And I appreciate it, including what you did today. You saved my life and helped me save this city.”

 

It was the acknowledgement he’d secretly wished for all along and yet Merlin was still cautious. He knew Arthur and doubted things could be so simple as an open invitation to return.

 

“I assume there’s a ‘but’ coming,” he said with a grim wince of anticipation.

 

“But,” Arthur continued, arching an eyebrow in a clear signal for Merlin to shut up and listen, “the manipulations and lies have to stop.”

 

“I never manipulated you,” Merlin swore solemnly. At least, that was never how he intended it to seem.

 

“It doesn’t matter, that’s how it feels,” Arthur justified. “That’s how it will look to others too. And I won’t have it. I want a kingdom built upon absolute honesty from now on, do you understand?”

 

Merlin nodded and was silent for moment, contemplating whether he should reveal his other great secret. But he didn’t see what choice he had; if it came from another’s lips later on then it could be the death of their friendship forever.

 

“Then there’s something else you should know,” he said soberly. “About Morgana.”

 

To his credit, Arthur stood there and listened without interruption as Merlin explained all about the poison. About how he’d found out she was causing the castle to fall asleep so Morgause could infiltrate and kill Uther. How in his desperation, Merlin had seen no choice but to remove the source of that spell before it was too late. He confessed, for the first time aloud, that he wished he’d taken the chance of talking to her first but he’d been afraid at the time about what might happen if she’d rejected his pleas to help stop the attack. Instead he’d opted to trick her into drinking poisoning and then had tried to comfort her as she’d died. At the last moment, he’d swapped the knowledge of the poison with Morgause in exchange for her calling off the attack.

 

It was genuinely the worst thing he’d ever done and whilst he knew he’d saved lives, he was painfully and openly ashamed of it.

 

When the tale was over, Arthur’s voice was unsteady.

 

“Well that explains a lot doesn’t it,” he murmured tightly. “About why Morgana couldn’t trust us when she came back. And why she clearly hates you so much.”

 

He looked dismayed. Saddened. But when he turned his gaze back up to Merlin again there was a firm determination there. They had to move on.

 

“You know I never would’ve agreed to you doing such a thing. And I don’t condone it now, even though I accept why you did it.”

 

Merlin nodded, understanding and accepting that. He remembered Kilgharrah’s words on the hilltop; ‘You will still have to do those difficult things, things that Arthur cannot and must not do.’

 

“From now,” Arthur continued, “we’ll make these kind of decisions together. It’s a mockery if you stay as my servant now. You’ll sit on my council from now on and help advise me how to bring this kingdom back together again.”

 

Merlin was so pleased he almost added something there about them steering it to a golden age together, but instead he just nodded with a slight smile.

 

“Hey,” he said finally, attempting a joke to lighten the heavy mood and bring them back to how they’d once been, “if it means I don’t have to go near your laundry anymore…”

 

Arthur glared at him but there was a hint of their old, nudging camaraderie behind it.

 

“I suggest you go and help with the clean up before I change my mind.”

 

Merlin smiled fully this time, quite happy to do as he was told.

 

“And Merlin?”

 

He turned back just before he reached the door.

 

“You’re still my citizen and you work for me,” Arthur pointed out brightly. “If you ever tell me to ‘shove it’ again, you will be doing my laundry for the rest of your hopefully very long life, understand?”

 

Despite such a heinous threat, Merlin laughed.

 

**********************

 

Arthur was clearly disappointed when Morgana told him that they’d be leaving the next morning. For definite this time, she assured him, absolutely unable to afford any more delays. He’d tentatively suggested that perhaps they should take a few days’ rest after their efforts in the battle but when she’d ultimately refused, he accepted it with good grace.

 

When she was alone, packing her very few belongings - a clean dress, the dagger Arthur had given her - into a bag, a knock sounded sharply at the door. She expected Gwen and more pleas to stay a while, and when she opened it to see Merlin instead she was thrown for a moment. She knew as her surprise subsided though that she most definitely wasn’t pleased to see him. The feeling was complex, but certainly not a good one.

 

“I thought you should know,” he said in the tight, awkward manner of talking to someone with whom truce was a show rather than heartfelt, “I’ve destroyed the ring you gave me. I didn’t think it was wise to keep anything of Mordred’s around.”

 

Morgana wondered if that was supposed to be some kind of dig at her and then dismissed the idea, telling herself that she shouldn’t care. She didn’t. The true reason for her discomfort was far more troubling than that.

 

Merlin looked at her with a masked expectation. If it was in fact the expectation of her inviting him in to talk, then he’d be sorely disappointed because she had no intention of doing so, and the silence between them remained tense.

 

“Was that all?” she asked eventually.

 

He seemed to be on the verge of saying something else but then thought better of it, starting to move away.

 

“Yes, that’s all.”

 

“We’ll never be friends Merlin,” she blurted out, not sure why she needed him to know but feeling better for it. She wanted no pretence of it.

 

“No, we won’t,” he agreed, his disdain for her gone but replaced by something colder. Enemies keeping the peace for the sake of something they both loved. “I’m glad you helped us this time. I know we needed you. But I still hate everything you’ve done and how you’ve gone about it.”

 

It was simple fact, leaving her in no doubt about where they stood. But then he continued surprisingly.

 

“I understand, Morgana, I do, and I’m sorry for what happened to you but what you did in return was still wrong.”

 

The last thing she wanted was his pity.

 

“You poisoned me,” she said tightly. “Don’t tell me you think that was right. That saving Uther was right.”

 

She’d been friends with this boy once, she’d turned to him when she was desperate, and unbeknown to her, he could’ve helped her at a time when no one else had. But he’d left her to drown. She wondered if he ever realised how much that hurt.

 

Or how afraid of him she still felt deep inside.

 

“Morgana,” he said, slightly more gently but with an uncertain hesitation. “There was…there was a prophecy. I was told you’d join with Mordred and together you’d bring down Arthur. You know I could never that happen.”

 

She stilled taking that in whilst immediately arguing to herself that she hadn’t done that at all- she’d turned from Mordred, she had a new path now and Arthur had been saved.

 

But Mordred was still out there somewhere and she could see in Merlin’s eyes the doubt that he held deep down. He didn’t trust that she wouldn’t fulfil this role someday.

 

Prophecy was a pernicious beast.

 

“I wish things could’ve gone different,” he said with a weary sigh of acceptance, stepping back. “But they are what they are now.”

 

“And whose fault is that?” she questioned him with blunted challenge. “Mine? Yours? Uther’s?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

He truly didn’t anymore.

 

“I say we blame Uther, hmm?” she  suggested quietly. “It might be easier all round. Neither of us can take it out on the dead.”

 

*********************

 

Some parts of the courtyard were still smoldering, heat and wisps of smoke curling into the air as Arthur and Gwen stood there to bid his sisters farewell. Gwen had expressed her own disappointment at them having to go so soon but she’d tempered it with a hope that they could return with equal speed. Perhaps once the repairs were complete and Camelot could celebrate this cherished victory.

 

Morgause had nodded but made no promise. They had repairs of their own and she couldn’t help but think that it’d be best for Morgana if she stayed away from here for a long time rather than returning and reopening old wounds. She needed peace now. She deserved it.

 

Still, Arthur had proved kind to them, offering them horses and basic supplies for their short journey. Something Morgause gratefully accepted given they were both tired still and the spell to teleport was a trying one. He offered them more than that too, extending the hand of friendship before they left. Morgause had taken it cautiously but hadn’t considered pushing it away. The people of magic needed his cooperation and, hopefully, protection. She couldn’t be everywhere after all.

 

“If you need us,” Arthur promised solemnly once more, looking up at them both as they prepared to ride out, “you only have to ask.”

 

“I suspect,” Morgause reasoned, “you’re more likely to be needing us. But I shall remember your offer. And I shall be watching to closely to ensure you’re as good as your word as regards my kind. Brother.”

 

He smiled a little at that as though he’d expected nothing else.

 

With a nod of respect towards Gwen, Morgause started off on her horse, Morgana hesitating only a moment longer.

 

“Take care,” Arthur said to her quietly.

 

“We’d like to see you back here again soon,” Gwen reminded her again with kindness.

 

Morgana paused at that, looking up at the smoke blackened walls of Camelot. Towards her old window.

 

“Perhaps”, she said quietly.

 

Then she turned and followed Morgause.

 

“Do you really trust him?” Morgana asked once they were beyond the gate. She sounded a little like she feared the answer and Morgause understood why; it was because she wanted to trust him.

 

“I believe his heart is in the right place,” Morgause confirmed. “But even the best of hearts can be waylaid. We’ll retreat to the Isle and make ourselves strong again, where we can be safe.”

 

She was quiet a moment as they passed a small group of guards, the men nodding at them in surprising respect.

 

“Besides,” Morgause continued when they’d moved out of earshot, “the people here have seen what they used to once know of the Old Religion; what it can do for them, how it can protect and aid them. I hope, with Arthur’s proclamation, more will return to the old ways and we can make a true land for our kind. A land of loyal followers where we’ll never have to suffer the way we did under Uther again.”

 

Her eyes shone with the imagining of it. It’d been her dream since the childhood she’d known had been so cruelly torn from her with the start of the Great Purge.

 

“We don’t need this world any more,” Morgana agreed quietly. Morgana who’d grown up in this world, pushing away the cares of it once and for all.

 

Morgause smiled at her. “Quite. Let us go home.”


	24. Chapter 24

Morgana awoke with a sharp intake of breath, the images in her mind’s eye still so vivid that it took her a moment to see her true surroundings. She was in her own bedroom in the slowly reforming castle, blossoming climbers on the walls and the morning sky through the crack still in the ceiling. It was a place of beauty and peace but she felt none of it in that moment, only the chilling ghost of what she’d just seen.

 

There’d been a great battle and Arthur lying dead or dying at the heart of it. Then there was a boat and Morgause taking her hand as they both stepped into it. Gwen watched them from the shore with tears in her eyes, giving them a nod of gratitude.

 

Morgana wasn’t sure what it all meant but she doubted it was anything good.

 

Climbing out of bed, deeply troubled, she pulled on her dress and went to find Morgause.

 

The other woman had risen with the sun’s first rays as she always did - Morgana, having grown up in manner that left her unaccustomed to early rises, often slept later - and was to be found in one of the nearby courtyard gardens. She was tending the new budding flowers there with care as she did near every morning, seeing what’d grown overnight, if anything new had begun to flourish. She was rarely disappointed these days.

 

The Isle was blooming again with the presence of the High Priestesses. The strand of magic left here had been so fragile when they’d first arrived that Morgause had feared they were too late. But tender nurture had sparked it to life and by the time spring arrived, the barren trees showed the first bud of leaf for a decade and flowers had sprung up for the ground.

 

Now over in the old citadel, wyverns called again and a white dragon made her home at the top of the tallest spire. Not that Aithusa would be able to stay up there for much longer. Morgana often cooed at her affectionately during the dragon’s daily visits, telling her to find somewhere else on the island to settle; she was growing at a rapid pace now.

 

She wasn’t the only thing.

 

Morgause smiled as she saw Morgana’s approach and she rose to embrace her as best she could these days.

 

“Did you sleep well, my love?” she asked gently. “I trust the babe did not keep you awake.”

 

She rested her hands with utmost tenderness onto Morgana’s swollen belly, feeling the strong magic of the child within. Their child. Their daughter. The Isle came with many blessings and Morgause wasn’t entirely surprised when Morgana had announced with distinct confusion that she’d missed her bleed for near three months. She knew what it could mean but that it should be impossible. Morgause though had of heard such tales before; of how loving sorceresses were blessed and rewarded in this manner, although it’d not happened in her lifetime and she hadn’t dared hope for it. A spell had confirmed what they suspected though; Morgana was with child. At first Morgana had been afraid, remembering far too distinctly the story of Igraine and what’d become of her, but Morgause had hurriedly soothed those fears. Igraine was barren and life had been created where none could ever be, Morgana on the other hand was in the prime of her fertility. This was a direct gift from the Goddess herself. A new child to bless Her blossoming Isle. She would be new High Priestess, the first born since Morgana herself, and it would be the start of a new dawn for them.

 

And so it proved as Morgana began to dream once more. Their child would be but the first, she said, but there’d be more sorceresses to come. Many more, girls born to loyal women who would bring them to the Isle to be trained and welcomed into the love of the Goddess. Even with Camelot tolerant, their home was the only place that such a girl could learn to embrace her gifts and with magic so accepted once more, people would want that life for their daughters. A new Blood Guard would be formed too. The Isle would expand to carry each new arrival, hiding and protecting them from the world outside for the rest of time. It would be their paradise. They would call it Avalon.

 

Morgause had listened to each of Morgana’s promises with wonder and delight. It was all she’d ever worked for, even if they’d achieved it in a way that she could never have dreamed of. They were so happy here, which is why Morgana’s troubled face that morning was such a surprise. She hadn’t looked like that in a long while.

 

“What’s wrong?” she pressed gently, a protective stroke on her arm.

 

Ever since she’d learnt of the child, her instinct to protect had become more pronounced and fierce in a way that often made Morgana laugh. Now though she just frowned with a mix of confusion and concern.

 

“Did you lie to Merlin when you said you could save Arthur?”

 

Morgause’s own frown instantly asked her for more solid information and Morgana obliged, explaining fully what she’d seen; the battle, the death, the boat, their riding it…

 

Morgause listened with interest.

 

“What I told Merlin was no lie,” she assured Morgana when the other woman had finished. “We prevented Arthur’s death in the battle with Lot. But he will still fall oneday at Mordred’s hand. Some fates are so deeply written that they cannot be changed, only delayed.”

 

Morgana looked troubled by that - perhaps not wishing to think of her brother’s death and the part she’d played in bringing it about when she’d saved the boy -  and Morgause eased her to the soft grass, letting Morgana lean back in her arms. She rested her hands on Morgana’s belly and stroked slowly in a manner she knew Morgana found relaxing. It would be only a few short months now before their daughter was with them and she wanted nothing to bother Morgana at such a precious time.

 

“If he proves to be a kind and just king,” she soothed, “sympathetic to the Goddess and the plight of her children, who knows what kindnesses will be afforded to him? You’ve seen the strength of Her blessings.”

 

Indeed, it was growing inside her right now and that made Morgana smile again at last, resting her hands over Morgause’s. She understood what her sister was implying and what Arthur’s reward might be.

 

“You think Arthur would be happy here?” she teased softly, “Surrounded by a group of stubborn, powerful women?”

 

“I’m more concerned about the Pendragon siblings being placed together again,” Morgause taunted back. “I’m not sure we can bear the quarrelling.”

 

Morgana laughed a little before her smile turned into something more solemnly.

 

“I’m not a Pendragon,” she announced with quiet determination. “But I don’t belong in the House of Gorlois either.”

 

“Then what are you, my love?” Morgause asked gently, sweeping Morgana’s hair softly back.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

Morgause was thoughtful a moment, ensuring she recalled the half forgotten fact correctly before she spoke.

 

“When a child was brought to the High Priestesses and no one knew her parentage,” she explained, “they gave her a name instead, bringing her into the house of the Goddess.”

 

Morgana’s interest peaked. “What was it?”

 

“La Fay.”

 

Morgana smiled so warmly that Morgause knew she’d adopted it in a moment.

 

“Morgana La Fay,” Morgause whispered in some kind of greeting, kissing her cheek. It suited her well.

 

Morgana settled back in Morgause’s arms and all was peace for a moment.

 

“There was no sign of Merlin in my vision,” she pondered after a while, tensing at the notion in a way that suggested that he still made her nervous. Morgause knew full well that Morgana’s very soul seemed to have been damaged by that boy. It was a wound that quietly festered even now. She knew too that Morgana didn’t trust him, was frightened of him almost, and to not know his fate would be troubling indeed.

 

But Morgause had discovered something and had only been waiting for the right moment to bring it up.

 

“Do you remember,” she said, slowly and carefully, “that I told you that the library here was reforming?”

 

The library of the High Priestesses was a prize she could’ve barely hoped to regain and yet to her surprise and delight the books had begun to reform from the piles of dust they’d withered to almost at the same time the flowers had started to bloom again. At the same time as Morgana had received their child. Morgause had taken it as a sign from the Goddess and what she’d discovered since convinced her that she was correct to do so.

 

“I found a prophecy,” she continued, toying with a curl of Morgana’s silken hair. “It claims that Emrys will be undone by his obsession with a dark haired sorceress.”

 

Morgana frowned, obviously wondering if Morgause was referring to her.

 

“It says her name is Viviane,” Morgause finished.

 

Morgana nodded, deeply thoughtful for a moment as she considered something. Then, as if she’d made a decision, she gave Morgause’s hand a squeeze.

 

“It’s a beautiful name, don’t you think?”

 

Behind her, pressing a kiss to Morgana’s pale cheek, Morgause smiled indulgently, feeling the balance of something indefinable finally restored. Feeling peace return to Morgana, settling upon her in a way it never had in all the time Morgause had known her.

 

“Utterly perfect,” she agreed.

 

From the stirring beneath her hands, it seemed that the babe - their daughter Viviane - approved too.


End file.
